


Madness Lies

by Zeke Black (istia)



Series: Los Hermanos [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, First Time, M/M, POV Chris Larabee, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-21
Updated: 2005-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:14:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 67,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istia/pseuds/Zeke%20Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reuniting after twenty years isn't always easy. The seven Larabee brothers try to recreate a family together nineteen years after the four youngest--Nathan, Ezra, Vin, and JD--were taken away to be adopted by other families.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madness Lies


       That way madness lies.
    
          --William Shakespeare, _King Lear_, 3.4.21

###### Four Corners, Washington | 1960

"Chris, we'll get them back. Somehow." Josiah's deep voice exuded steadfast reassurance, though his eyes seemed even more deep-set than usual and the fair skin around them was darkened with weariness.

Chris threw his older brother a bitter look. "And how're we going to do that? They won't even tell us where they're taking them."

"We know where Nathan is; we can keep in touch with him."

Nathan. Chris balled his hands in renewed fury remembering the recent interview with the social worker.

"I'm sorry," she'd said, sounding like a broken record. "I understand your feelings, but you can't possibly look after five underage children. You're only nineteen yourself, Christopher. Josiah is trying to do two jobs while attending night school just to keep the three of you fed. It's a concession that the Department of Family Services is willing to consider leaving Buck with you."

A concession! "Buck'll be eighteen and out of the state's care in less'n ten months," Chris had gritted out furiously. "It makes no sense even to think of shipping him off somewhere. He's in his last year of school."

"Exactly." She'd offered a tense smile. "Buck is a fine young man. A little too rambunctious for his own good, perhaps, but he's doing well enough in school, and disrupting his life for less than a year makes no sense. I'm sure he'll do fine in your care."

Her smile had faded, replaced by the harried frown she'd worn every time they'd seen her.

"The others, however, are another matter entirely--"

"Nathan's thirteen," Chris had interrupted. They had Buck secured; now to work on the next one. "He's doing more than okay in school--he's real smart. He wants to be a doctor one day. He's wanted to be a doctor since he was a little boy and his mother used to take him with her on her rounds." Nathan's mother had been a nurse in their rural community where a doctor from the nearest town had held a clinic only twice a week, before the local hospital was built to serve all the surrounding area. She had done most of the immediate care from hangnail cutting to baby-delivering if it was an emergency to splinting bones and arranging for transportation to the nearest hospital. "Nathan's like that. He's steady and mature and he knows exactly what he wants. This is his home. You disrupt all that and who knows what might happen?"

"I understand your feelings." Her tired voice had striven for a conciliatory tone. "And it speaks highly of you that you want to keep your brother with you. But Nathan is a child. He's going to need looking after for five years, not just a few months like Buck. I'm sorry." She'd looked at Chris and Josiah in turn, earnestly. "You just don't have the resources to guarantee a proper home for an adolescent boy. And with his color--"

"What's his color got to do with anything?"

"Chris," Josiah had said, warningly, and Chris had slumped down on the chair, seething silently as Josiah continued in a placating voice, "Ma'am, that is a good point. Nathan is known in this area. Everyone knows who he is and that he belongs with us. They all knew and loved his mother, who took care of folks in these parts right up until her chronic asthma took her from us. Nathan fits in here. How're you going to find someplace else where he'll fit in as well? And where he'll get help making his dream of being a doctor come true?"

She'd given a falsely sweet smile and affected a chipper voice. "I'm very glad to say that we've found a relative who is willing to take care of Nathan. A--" she shuffled her papers until she found the right one "--Mr. Theobald Jackson, his mother's brother."

Chris had looked at Josiah with despair. If they'd found a relative for Nathan, then he knew there was virtually no hope. They might have been able to argue it was better to leave the boy with his family than give him to strangers, but that argument went out the window. From the stricken look on Josiah's face, Chris knew his older brother had the same thought.

"Ma'am," Josiah had attempted, "we're Nathan's family, too. His immediate family. Nathan hasn't seen his uncle since his mother died when he was only five. They're strangers to him."

"Nevertheless, Mr. Jackson and his wife are willing to adopt him, for the memory of his mother and because they have no children of their own. And they're not strangers. They're family." Her relief at this perfect solution to one of the problems posed by the sudden deaths of the Larabee boys' parents had been obvious. She'd shuffled the file on Nathan Jackson Larabee back into her briefcase with an air of finality.

"But--"

"As for the younger three," she had said, firmly, interrupting Chris, "there can be no question of their remaining with you. You must see yourselves that you're not suitable to provide proper care and attention to three little boys, one only a baby. They need two proper parents and a proper home."

:::::::

Chris pinched at the bridge of his nose. He'd seemed to have had a headache continuously since the phone call on Friday evening last week had destroyed the world as he knew it. He'd been out with his friends playing pool in a local bar, ogling the girls and celebrating the end of a week of work, when the bartender had summoned him to the phone. It had been a dazed Josiah telling him the police had just been to the ranch to say their parents had been killed while on their way to a rare weekend alone together at a friend's mountain cabin, a treat to celebrate having paid off half the mortgage on the ranch.

Since that fateful moment when it had felt as though the world had ground to a halt and everything had frozen, before it had started up again with a garish squeal of noise and emotional distress, they'd had hardly a moment to think. Arrangements had to be made and papers looked for--no will could be found anywhere, no matter how much Josiah searched--and people informed. And five little brothers to look after, bathe, dress, feed...and comfort. Caring for six-month-old Sammy was time-consuming, but his needs were the simplest to meet. As long as he was clean, comfortable, fed, and had some playtime and cuddling, he was happy. The others, though....

Vin was just turned four. He never stopped asking for his mommy. He'd never been separated from her overnight before, not even when Sammy was born since she'd had the baby at home and been able to see the boys after she'd had a rest. They'd tried to make him understand she couldn't come home, that she'd never come home, but death wasn't a concept his young mind was ready to accept. She was always there when he wanted her. She always came when he called. So he kept calling, and crying in confusion and fear, and calling because nobody would take him to her.

Chris had spent hours rocking the confused and distressed child. He'd taken him to sleep with him, too, because Vin clung to him. Chris knew he wasn't a replacement, but he was at least a familiar substitute. And Chris had always been indulgent with his little brothers; it hurt to know Vin kept expecting him to produce his mother just because Vin wanted her and Chris had always made nice things happen. It hurt to keep trying to explain to Vin that he couldn't make Mommy come home, that he couldn't go and get Mommy. The look of betrayal growing in Vin's eyes as the days passed had hurt almost more than anything else.

And now he and Josiah had failed Vin again. The little boy was going to lose all the rest of his family, all he knew in the world, and be given over to strangers.

Chris clung to Vin as much as Vin clung to him because he knew he'd soon be unable to smell and feel and hear and see his little brother. The almighty state was going to do the unthinkable and destroy what was left of the Larabee clan.

Then there was Ezra. At six, Ezra was just enough older to understand perfectly about death. His large green eyes had grown huge when Chris and Josiah had awkwardly explained to Nathan and the little ones, to Ezra and Vin, about the accident.

Ezra knew about death. Just the year before, he'd seen his beloved puppy killed in front of his eyes. Chris had been minding him that day. He'd resentfully taken his little brother with him to work on the north fence while his mother--his stepmother, to be strictly accurate, the mother of the three youngest--had taken Vin to the doctor with an ear infection. Chris didn't usually mind watching his brothers, but, that day, he'd been planning on going to a friend's house after school. Instead, he'd been saddled with the five-year-old and had stamped off crossly to work on the fence with the child and his constant shadow in tow.

Josiah had brought the puppy home six months before. It had been intended as a present for all the boys, and they'd all fussed with delight over the excited little thing. Chris had taken his turn down on the floor tickling the round soft tummy and throwing a chew ring across the floor to watch the puppy chase after it, yapping madly while everyone laughed. Three-year-old Vin had giggled when the puppy ardently licked his face, and Nathan had been enchanted when he'd been able to encourage the puppy to sit up and beg for a dog cookie.

But when the puppy had dropped into an exhausted sleep in the way of all over-energetic young things, it had been Ezra he'd pressed his plump little body against. And when Ezra had gotten up, the puppy had followed, dropping down to sleep again with a sigh when Ezra settled. When they ate dinner, the puppy happily wolfed the food Buck put in his shiny new bowl, but then he'd curled up under Ezra's chair. Later, when the little ones were in bed and the puppy had been missed, they'd found him on the rug beside Ezra's bed. And that had been that. Buddy loved them all and recognized them all as his family, but Ezra was his special human. Where Ezra went, Buddy followed. When Ezra cried, Buddy whined. When Ezra laughed, Buddy's tail went mad.

So, on that day, while Chris grumbled to himself and worked on the fence, Ezra and Buddy had run up and down the dirt track behind him that ran from the house to the road. Ezra had been throwing a ball. Buck had taught Buddy the joy of fetching things so they could be thrown again. Chris had never stopped blaming himself for not having thought about what could happen. If only he hadn't been mad, he might have thought to change the ball for a stick. But he hadn't, and the first inkling he'd had of trouble was Ezra's piercing scream, "Buddy!"

He'd looked up to see Ezra racing as fast as his little legs could carry him down the dirt track toward the road after Buddy's bounding black form. He'd dropped his hammer and run, shouting Ezra's name. He'd grabbed Ezra just as the child hit the blacktop and in time to see a truck try to screech to a halt before hitting the puppy diving for the bright red rolling ball. He'd seen the tires roll over the small body and heard Buddy's death scream, which had mingled with Ezra's scream, and then he'd had Ezra in his arms and turned him around away from the sight. He'd clutched the small, trembling body, feeling Ezra's wet face pressed hard into his neck, and he'd felt sheer horror at the thought of how close it had been--at how close it had come to being Ezra lying smashed dead under the truck.

The driver had been white-faced with shock, too, and had offered to wrap Buddy in a tarp he had in the back. Chris, holding Ezra as tightly as he could, hadn't been able to speak; he'd just nodded, and forced himself to watch as the puppy's mangled body had been dealt with and laid beside the fence where he indicated, and he'd nodded again in thanks as the man had expressed his sorrow again and looked sadly at the violently shaking Ezra, then left. Chris had carried Ezra home, and Josiah and his father later went to collect the pitiful little body and bury it under a shady elm in the back yard.

They'd all been tearful and grief-stricken, but Ezra had been shattered. When his father had tentatively suggested they get another puppy, his stepmother had firmly said no. The other boys would just have to do without a puppy to play with, she'd said; Ezra wouldn't have been able to stand it.

Ezra knew about death. He still sometimes woke the household screaming Buddy's name. Those nightmares had been getting fewer and further between over the past year--until this week.

Chris rubbed his head again. Ezra had woken up screaming at least once a night ever since the accident. Josiah had taken Ezra to sleep with him in his big, private room in the attic, but Chris lay awake each night, Vin asleep beside him, waiting to hear the muffled screams. He was pretty sure from the look of Buck that he was spending a lot of each night tensely awake, too. Chris didn't want to know what Ezra might be seeing in those nightmares.

Sometimes he wondered if they'd made a mistake telling the little ones at the same time as they had Nathan. Buck had been awake the night when the phone call came, but Nathan had already been asleep. They'd told the three younger ones the next morning. Nathan had tearfully wanted to know details. As soon as Josiah had said "car accident," Chris had seen Ezra's huge eyes get even bigger and his small body shake violently. Vin's confusion and demands for his mother had taken Chris's attention, and Nathan had flung himself into Josiah's arms, so it had been Buck who had gathered up Ezra. But it had been bothering Chris ever since that maybe the sight of Buddy mangled and bleeding on the road might have been replaced or mixed up in Ezra's mind with a picture of his parents looking like that.

He thought they maybe should have thought of how the news might affect Ezra in particular. He wondered if the state might be right and they weren't old enough to be good parents to three little kids and a teenager.

But then his anger returned, and he knew that wasn't right. Strangers wouldn't even know about Buddy; no one else in the world would wonder for even a minute whether it had been right or not to tell the six-year-old how his parents had died. They were the only ones--he and Josiah and Buck--who knew Ezra and Vin and Nathan well enough to know what they needed and how they should be treated.

And they had a right to get that kind of knowledge of their baby brother, too. Instead, the state was going to take all four of them away and they'd never know what happened to them or how they grew up or whether they were happy or if there was anyone there to hold them when they were hurt or scared or had a nightmare.

"It's wrong, Josiah." His fists clenched with unbearable helplessness. "It's wrong. They've got no right to take them away from us without even giving us a chance."

Josiah's strong arm went around his shoulders. Chris stiffened, then let Josiah pull him against his powerful body.

"I know, brother. But I promise you, one day, we will get them back."

  


###### Four Corners, Washington | 1979

Chris leaned back in the office chair and looked out the window to his left. He watched fondly as Buck schooled a greenbroke horse in the paddock. Buck had their father's touch with the horses. Buck wasn't much good with the accounts--neither was Chris, come to that--but Buck had worked his butt off all these years while they'd tried to keep possession of the ranch and keep their heads above water financially, and it was finally showing signs that they might actually make it. Chris had just finished the month's bookkeeping. Only four more payments and the second mortgage would be paid off. Then all they'd have left to deal with would be the remainder of the thirty-year mortgage Josiah had negotiated after their parents died and the question of the ownership of the ranch had finally been legally settled. They were far from being in the clear, but at least there was a hint of a possible break in the clouds.

He ran a hand over the polished walnut surface of the large antique desk. His father had sat here many evenings, smoking his pipe, the room filled with the sweet scent of special-mix tobacco as he worked on the books and figured ways and means of making the small horse ranch viable and bringing up his family of seven boys safely here. Chris felt the old sorrow pierce him along with the ever-present sense of guilt and failure. He and Buck and Josiah might actually one day fulfill their father's dream of making the ranch a success, but they had failed entirely in keeping the family safe. They'd struggled for years to protect the family home, but the family itself had been torn from them. What the fuck use was a home without a family to shelter in it?

The nineteen years that had passed since the social workers had arrived on a spring day and forcibly taken away their four little brothers hadn't diminished the pain of that rift. They never talked about that day, but he doubted any of the three of them ever quite managed to put it out of their minds. It had been worse even, really, than the deaths of their parents. He'd deeply mourned the loss of his father and his laughing, loving stepmother, and he still missed them both, but even that pain didn't cut as deep as the horrible day when the rest of his family had been ruthlessly torn apart.

Nathan had tried with a thirteen-year-old's sense of pride and maturity to be strong, but his big dark eyes had shown his terror when the social worker ushered him out of the house with his cardboard suitcase clutched in one hand. The case was an ancient, battered one that had belonged to his mother. They'd tried to convince him to take one of the newer, nicer cases, but he'd insisted on taking the old one he'd unearthed from somewhere in the attic. He'd tried valiantly to be grown up, but he was just a boy clinging to anything he could of his family and what he loved.

When Chris had hugged the gangly youth, he'd said, fiercely, into his ear, "Be strong. Remember we'll always love you, no matter how long it is until we see you. And we will be together again."

Nathan had clung to him for a long moment, as he had to Buck and Josiah in turn, and then, sniffing his tears back manfully, he'd climbed obediently into the car, which had immediately driven away. He'd already said his goodbyes to the little ones.

Chris closed his eyes. Baby Sammy had been carried out of the house by a smiling young social worker, who had talked to him in a sweet, happy voice. Sammy was a plump, secure, contented infant who had never known anything but lots of loving hands and voices, and so had no expectation of anything but being cared for and safe. He'd been the luckiest of them all, Chris knew. Sammy might be a little upset when no one familiar was around anymore, but he'd soon forget and settle down into his new life--as long as he was lucky enough to be given to decent, caring parents. The ones who would suffer were the rest of them, who would never cease to wonder if the new family their youngest was given to would treat him well and keep him that happy little fellow.

Sometimes Chris thought he'd go mad if he had to wonder one more time if that innocent baby had found a good life and the loving parents the state had promised the older boys they'd found for him. Babies were always in demand, and a handsome, healthy baby like Sammy had dozens of wonderful parents eager to welcome him as their own. Or so they'd been told.

If only he could know for sure just what kind of life that littlest brother had had, and had now, maybe he'd find a measure of the peace that had been missing for almost two decades.

And then there were the little ones. The trust'em twins, as Buck had called them, once Vin started crawling, because you could always trust them to get into more than double the mischief any single child managed on his own. But for every instance of mischief and trouble they got into, there was an equal measure of sweet lovingness, such as when they'd crawl into somebody's lap and curl up and go to sleep. It didn't matter what you were doing; when the trust'ems were ready to conk out, they'd choose the lap they wanted and that was that. He could remember countless times when he'd been lying on his bed or sitting on the couch, reading or doing homework or listening to music, and a small body had climbed up on top of him and fallen asleep. He'd never thought anything of it; just put a hand down on a warm back and felt the soothing rise and fall. He didn't even bother to look down half the time to see who it was. If it was a little bigger and heavier body, it was Ezra; if it snuffled a little in its sleep, it was Vin. One Sunday afternoon, he'd written an entire essay assignment sitting at his desk with one arm curved around Ezra holding him in place on his lap.

He flinched away from remembering the moment when the social workers had taken the two from them, but, as always, he couldn't stop the memories. He'd never forget the feeling of utter helplessness he experienced that day. The social worker had had to drag Vin from Chris because Vin was clinging so hard to his neck that Chris himself hadn't been able to loosen the hold without dropping him. Vin had screamed his fury and fear, kicking at the social workers and wriggling with all his might to be freed from the inexorable grip that was tearing him away. He was only four years old. His parents were gone and no matter how much he'd demanded his mother come to him over the past week, she hadn't appeared. Now he was being taken from his home and all the rest of the people in the world he knew and loved.

Instead of calling for his mother, he'd now screamed piercingly over and over again their names: Chris, J'siah, Buck. The sense of betrayal had choked Chris as he'd seen Vin's uncomprehending terror when none of the people he'd always depended on had answered his pleas. When they'd put him in the car, it had taken two social workers to hold him, and the last sight they'd had of him had been his little hands clawing at the back window and his frantic face peering back at them before somebody pulled him down.

Ezra had been hurried away more quietly. He'd been subdued the entire week since the accident, except for the nightmares. It was as though he'd gone inside himself, to a hurting place all by himself. He wasn't the gregarious, talkative little boy they knew. He'd seemed to be all eyes; enormous green eyes bleeding hurt.

Through all these years, the echoes of Vin's screams and the image of Ezra's eyes had been the memory of pain to Chris.

Ezra hadn't clung to any of them when they'd hugged him good-bye. Buck had caught him up in a fierce clutch, tears flowing down Buck's cheeks in contrast to Ezra's dry eyes. Josiah had cradled Ezra for a long stretched minute, whispering to him. And then Chris had crouched in front of the little boy and put his arms around him and pulled him close for the last time. He'd felt the tremors that shook the slight body unceasingly.

He'd whispered into Ezra's ear, "I love you, little man," and he'd pressed a kiss to Ezra's cold, dry cheek, and then he'd had to let go and Ezra had let a social worker take his hand and lead him away. Ezra had left them clutching his battered teddy bear, which had belonged in turn to Josiah and Chris and Buck and Nathan, and looking at them over his shoulder, those enormous hurting eyes pleading silently, as loud a scream as Vin's. When he got in the car, he disappeared from view. He didn't try to get away or look out the window. A final scream from his eyes as he was lifted into the car was the last they saw of him.

Buck had turned away, sobbing, as soon as that last car left. He'd cursed and kicked things in the yard and threw things and smashed up a couple of lawn chairs, all the time sobbing and ranting. Chris had stood silently beside Josiah until the dust cloud left by the last car was gone. Then he'd turned around and looked blankly at the ranch and the destruction Buck had created and heard the unnatural silence, and he'd shivered.

The following years had been difficult. He'd held down his job working at the logging camp outside town to help Josiah with the bills as they'd tried to keep their heads above water. He'd worked as a faller, and spent his spare time with the stock and the ranch duties. Josiah had done two jobs, but he'd given up the night school to be around for Buck in the evenings. Buck had finished high school and thrown himself into the ranch, determined to keep the home their parents had created for them, fired by a dream of his own: of getting his family back together one day. Buck had always been an optimist, sunny natured just like little Sammy.

Chris supposed he'd been an optimist, too, at first. He'd spent countless hours lying exhausted in bed, unable to sleep for trying to think of ways to get the boys back. He'd thrown himself into feeding as much money as he could into the ranch and the debts that hung over them from the funeral and the lawyers' fees because his parents had died intestate. It took almost two years for clear title of the ranch to be awarded jointly to the three of them. It took that long for the court to decide the only legitimate claimants to the property were the three eldest sons. The younger four had been adopted by other families and, hence, had no claims.

"They're our blood," Buck had seethed that evening, pacing in the living room as the three of them had sat dully on a night that should have seen them celebrating. "The damn government's got no right to say they're nothing to do with us, or with our parents. They belong on this ranch as much as we do; they own a piece of it same as us."

"We know that, Buck," he'd said, tiredly, resting his hot cheek against a cool bottle of beer. "It doesn't matter what anyone says. When we get 'em back, we'll make them legally part of the ranch. What's important is that no one can take the ranch away from us now, as long as we pay the mortgages."

That had been their perceived first step in getting the boys back: secure the ranch as a home that couldn't be taken away from them. Step One was accomplished.

But when Josiah attempted to apply for custody of his brothers, now that the ranch was theirs and Buck was finished school and they had three paychecks to draw on, they got the worst blow of all. They were told each of the boys had been adopted. Each of them had new parents and new names. The adoptions were permanent. They belonged to other families now. Very nice families in each case, the Department of Family Services assured them. They couldn't give any details, but they were loving and good families. The boys were no longer anything to do with them.

The court had said the same in the matter of the ranch, but none of them had understood the permanence of it all until that moment.

Stunned in the loss of all hope, Josiah had asked if any of them had at least been placed in a home together, but the answer had been negative. They'd been split up, each to a separate family.

For awhile, it hadn't seemed as though there'd been anything left to strive for. What were they working their butts off for if they'd never be able to bring their little brothers home? What was the point of doing anything?

He reckoned what had saved them, in a way, was Nathan. Nathan had been adopted by his aunt and uncle and lived in California, but he was old enough to remember his address and everything about his real family. He wrote regularly. All three of them had pounced on those letters. Nathan said his uncle and aunt were okay. His uncle was a lot older than his mother had been, and he had "old-fashioned ideas"--they weren't sure what he meant by that--but they were decent people and they treated him kindly. He was going to a good school and was keeping his grades up and he'd made some friends.

They wrote back to him, but the letters were returned unopened, a firm hand on the envelope directing they be Returned to Sender. They worried that Nathan would think they didn't care about him because they didn't answer, but Nathan had always been a smart boy, and mature for his years. He kept sending a letter faithfully once a month, each of them written in bits at different times as thoughts occurred to him, like a diary of his life, saying he figured they'd tried to write back and his uncle wasn't letting him have the letters. His aunt and uncle didn't like Nathan writing to his brothers, but Nathan wasn't going to stop. He'd keep on writing even if he never heard from them.

Sometimes his letters were despairing as he wondered if they were all right, if anything had happened to them, if they were still at the ranch and getting his letters. But mostly he kept up a determined cheerfulness, telling them about his studies and how he was progressing in his plans to go to college and about the books he was reading--that was for Josiah; the two of them had always shared long conversations about books--and the things he did and sights he saw in California, how different it all was from home. He talked about his friends. As the years passed, he talked about his nervousness on his first date and about sock hops at school, and his worries about being too tall and gangly, and what if he never stopped growing and ended up a freak? He jotted down all the things he would have talked about if he'd been there with them, and it hurt that they couldn't get an answer to him, but those letters kept them whole. Nathan's voice in those letters kept clear and vital the remembrance that there were four brothers of theirs out there somewhere, each one real and growing up and living his own life, but still part of them in a way nothing could ever change or take away from them.

After the shock of being told they could never have custody of their brothers, or even ever be told what their new names were or where they were, Josiah and Chris took a trip to California. They'd had to save up the money for the trip, but it was worth it. One of them had to stay with the stock, and Buck insisted it should be him. He'd wanted desperately to see Nathan, too, but he'd said firmly that Nathan would most want to see his two oldest brothers.

They'd driven slowly by the Jackson house in their old pick-up that Josiah and Buck kept running with string and bubble gum, but they hadn't stopped or gone to the door. It was a nice house. Small and well-kept in an over-populated but pretty enough suburb of San Francisco. It had lace curtains at the windows and marigolds lining the short front path. It looked like a safe place for a child to grow up. Black kids playing on the quiet side street pulled their hockey net aside until the truck passed, then shouts of laughter rose behind them again as the game recommenced.

They'd stopped to ask directions, then driven to the high school Nathan had named in his letters. They parked the truck a block away and went to stand at the opening in the high steel mesh fence where a wide walkway led to the school's front doors. Kids poured out when the bell rang. More and more of them, hordes of kids of all shapes. A blur of teenagers. They'd been tense, knowing Nathan might leave by another door or might not even be in school that day, but they hadn't had any other way of doing things.

He'd come out when the stream was thinning. Chris had half-wondered if he'd recognize his brother, but his heart pounded the moment he caught sight of the tall slim figure coming out the door wearing a backpack and talking animatedly to another youth, much shorter and plumper than Nathan. Chris had grinned in relief--fucking fool to think he wouldn't recognize Nathan after only two years--and the grin had deepened as he'd seen Nathan's animated absorption in his conversation to the exclusion of all else. Nathan's buddy, like most of the kids who'd passed them, had stared at the two white men standing at the gate, but Nathan hadn't even looked up, unaware of being under scrutiny.

"Nathan," Josiah had said, his deep voice amused, when Nathan had drawn even with them and seemed likely to walk right on by.

Nathan had looked up then, and stopped dead, his face suddenly shocked immobile. His large dark eyes had stared at Josiah, then looked to Chris, and he'd abruptly broken into a huge smile and stepped to Josiah's side out of the stream of departing students. But then he'd paused and turned to his friend.

"Uh, Danny, I'll call you tonight, okay? I'll, uh, I'll see you later."

The shorter boy had left with reluctance and curiosity evident, but Chris and Josiah had had eyes only for Nathan. Chris had seen with relief that Nathan looked fine. They hadn't said anything, though; too dangerous in public. Instead, the three of them in silent agreement walked down the street together, Nathan following their lead to the truck. He put a hand on the battered front fender, and grinned again.

"I can't believe this thing is still on the road--and managed to make it all this way!"

He smiled happily at them, but got serious immediately. He gave them quick directions to a park and then took off without a backward glance. They drove to the park and made their way to the duck pond he'd appointed as a meeting place. When Nathan came, he stepped close to them and hugged each of them, Josiah and then Chris.

"Couldn't take a chance on word getting back to my aunt and uncle," he said, matter-of-factly. "White faces sort of stick out around here, as you probably noticed."

"They treating you all right?" Chris's determination to change things if the answer was negative rang in his voice. He knew Nathan recognized his protectiveness, and saw his little brother's tension slide away as he smiled.

"Yeah. They're all right. Not what you'd call liberal or progressive, but they're decent folk."

"What's that mean, not liberal?"

"My uncle thinks black people belong with black people and shouldn't try to be like whites, who aren't any better, just think they are. I think my mother marrying a white man upset her family a lot. They don't think much of my plan to become a doctor, either. The Jackson family's been good honest hard-working blue-collar all its generations since Lincoln freed the slaves, and--" he affected a deep, ponderous tone "--what's good enough for my uncle and was good enough for his father and grandfather should be good enough for me, without no high-falutin' white people's ideas in my head."

Nathan laughed, and shook his head. "But they're good to me. You don't have to worry."

"This crap they're telling you making you think on things?" Chris hadn't been able to help growling.

"Are you kidding? Of course not. My family's white as much as black even if they want to pretend otherwise, and I'm still planning to be a doctor if I can, somehow, or a nurse or whatever I can manage; I just keep the plans to myself. Uncle Theo thinks I'll go into the factory alongside him when I finish school, but I'll be eighteen then and they won't be able to tell me what to do. It might take me awhile to earn enough money to get through college and medical school, but I'll do it somehow."

Josiah and Chris had grinned with delight at this familiar determination. He had a stubborn streak like their father's; hell, like Chris's. Nathan was still entirely himself--and entirely theirs, even though they couldn't take him home.

They'd talked for two hours that Nathan would later tell his aunt and uncle he spent in the library. They told him about the ranch and Buck and what they'd been doing and about friends in town he missed. He told them about his life and his plans, just like in his letters. They'd also had to tell him about the younger ones.

"Damn." Nathan lowered his head and rubbed at his wet eyes. "They probably won't even remember us. Even Ezra might've been too young to remember much."

Josiah put his arm around him and pulled the fifteen-year-old close and held him, the three of them sitting in a huddle together on the grass in the cover of the trees.

"When you turn eighteen and finish school, you come home," Chris told him, fiercely, as he hugged Nathan good-bye.

Nathan had just nodded, looking bereft at losing them again so soon.

"It's only three more years. It'll be all right," Chris reassured him. "We'll be there waiting even though we can't get letters to you."

They'd had to leave him, but all four of them had felt immeasurably better for the brief visit. A year later, when Nathan was sixteen and had his first after-school job working at a Dairy Queen, he wrote with a new return address: a secret post office box he'd hired just to get mail from them. After that, they'd been able to keep in touch properly, sending Nathan photographs of the horses and ranch as well as regular letters that ranged from long rambling missives from Josiah to pages illustrated with rough but hilarious drawings from Buck.

And when he'd turned eighteen and graduated high school, he came home. Came home to the ranch and the room that had been his since he'd been born. They'd got a new bed for him, one big enough to accommodate his long, lanky body--their little brother who had grown taller than any of his tall brothers--and he'd sorted through the childish things he'd left behind and they'd kept for him, reawakening all his childhood memories. He kept in touch with his aunt and uncle, was genuinely fond of them and tolerant of their intolerance, but his home was the ranch and his primary family were his brothers.

Chris was fiercely proud of Nathan. It had taken years, but he'd worked and saved and taken courses on the side, anything and everything medical or biology or chemistry related that he could manage. He'd gone away to college, and done well, and come home with a degree. He'd spent the next four years in Africa, working for the Peace Corps, combining field experience with the chance to fulfill his desire to see the country half his ancestry rested in. Then he'd returned and taken up his studies again. He was in his fourth year of medical school in Seattle. He worked on the weekends to supplement his scholarship, so he didn't get home often, but he came when he could.

Four brothers. Some people would think that was a fine family for a man to have. Chris got up and went into the kitchen to switch on the coffeemaker. As he shook the fragrant ground coffee into the filter, his hand trembled a little and some spilt on the counter.

Sometimes he wondered if he had a curse where family was concerned. He'd failed to save his first family, and his second....

He took a mug from the cupboard and absently rubbed at the smooth rim. He hadn't had any intention of marrying in the years following the desperate effort to save the ranch, but then he'd met Sarah and all previous intentions had become meaningless. They'd married and she'd brought a woman's warm and loving touch to the house once more, brightening all of their lives. When she told him she was carrying a baby, he'd felt as though an electric bolt had shot through him. Buck had whooped joyfully and Josiah had grinned with delight. It had been a healing prospect. The house that had been too silent for years would ring again with a child's laughter and shouts, shelter a child, watch a child grow. They'd lost four of the children who should have been here, but this was a chance given to all of them to help another child grow up.

He and Buck had resolutely cleared out and painted the room the little ones had shared. Ezra's and Vin's beds were moved to the attic and Sammy's crib was moved in. In a couple of years, Vin's small bed would be moved down and the crib moved up--or to another room to hold another baby. Sarah hoped for a large family and Chris thrilled at the thought of having a houseful of kids to bring up together.

Those were the happiest years of his life. He had renewed energy and determination in working on the ranch, he and Sarah and Buck spending countless evenings thrashing out their plans for the ranch, practical suggestions and dreams alike flying between them, mingled with laughter and the smell of coffee in the warm, homey kitchen. It had reminded Chris of falling asleep as a child to the sounds of his mom and dad's murmurs and quiet laughter in the kitchen.

Josiah felt freed from responsibility for the family and entered seminary school, pursuing his own private dream, treading his own path. Immediately upon being ordained, he did a tour of duty in Nam, the only one of them who fought. Chris had been exempt by his marital status and Buck had simply never been called, his draft number in the lotteries consistently, by stroke of luck, high enough to keep him out. Chris had been glad of that, hadn't wanted Buck to go out there alone, hadn't been willing to abandon Sarah and Adam to volunteer to go with him. And Nathan's tour in the Peace Corps saved him from the draft.

Josiah returned from his tour changed, his faith, if not entirely broken, badly shaken. He'd abandoned formal religion and wandered the world, seeking knowledge and experiences wherever his heart and his unceasing curiosity took him, turning his hand and skills to whatever work kept him in food and travel money. There were some dark areas in those years, Chris was certain, that Josiah hadn't yet seen fit to share with any of them, unless he'd confided in Nathan. The letters Josiah had sent them while on his travels had glossed over the cracks in his soul, stressed instead the wonders he was seeing, but their tone had eased over the years.

Buck worked hard, loved hard, and lived hard, with all the huge-hearted exuberance that characterized him. Nathan pursued his own dreams, safe and strong and in constant touch with them, spending holidays and odd weekends with them whenever he could, part of their lives even when he was as far away as Namibia.

Those were the golden years, but he'd wondered countless times since if there was a curse maybe not just on him, but on the Larabee men, with wives the focus. His father had loved four times. He'd lost Josiah's mother before they'd married, but he'd loved her nonetheless and brought the boy up to remember her by giving Josiah her surname of Sanchez instead of the Larabee name. He'd married Chris's mother when Josiah was three. Chris was only two when his mother had died of a stroke while giving birth to Buck; he had no real memories of her, but he'd grown up knowing his father had adored her. As with Josiah, his father had insisted on having Buck legally registered by her surname, Wilmington, instead of his, hardly a usual practice in those days when a child was legitimate, but their father had strong convictions and a determined nature, not to mention a cousin-twice-removed who worked in the county office.

And then Nathan's mother had come into the household--or, at least, the young woman who would in time give them a new baby brother to play with, a brother who was chocolate brown and pretty and extra-special, like no brother anyone else in the world they knew had. Carole was sensible and loving. She mothered her three stepsons without being pushy, and it wasn't long before Buck was calling her Mom. Chris held out a little longer, but not much. She was his mom. She made him feel safe and loved and she baked cookies that made the kitchen warm and fragrant when he got home from school and she made sure he got his allowance every Friday afternoon because his father tended to be forgetful and she made him feel better when he was sick. Her crooning to him at bedtime--even when he was too old to let any of his friends know his mother tucked him in at night--was a memory he'd cherished for years.

She was his mom until he was eleven and she died of complications from her asthma. The house had been stricken with mourning, quieter without her light voice, chiller without her touch. But two years later, his father had found love again and brought home another woman who mothered her stepsons and presented them with not one, but three little brothers. And then, like the others, she died, but with his father that time, and the little brothers were lost.

When his own son, Adam, was five, Sarah took him for a visit home to her family. The shrilling of the phone early on a Sunday morning had presaged a disaster even greater than the one that came with the phone call telling him his parents were dead. A fire had killed Sarah and Adam and Sarah's elderly aunt. A fire had destroyed his family. A fire had killed his beautiful Sarah and the happy child who had represented renewal and healing and the unborn child Sarah had been carrying that he'd never have a chance to know.

Chris took his coffee mug out to the porch and sat in the swing. Mad, the five-year-old black-and-white sheepdog he'd bought as a puppy for Adam to grow up with, loped across the yard and settled panting in an ungainly heap at his feet, tongue lolling out. He rubbed the toe of his boot gently against her and watched with a faint smile as she collapsed happily onto her side so his boot scratched her ribs. The smile faded as he looked at the dog who had grown up safely and happily on this ranch while her young master had died.

Life had spiraled into chaos after that event. He hardly remembered much of the first year and not much more of the second, other than Buck's constant worry and badgering him until he'd been sick to death of Buck, and told him so, sometimes with words, sometimes with his fists; and Nathan coming home and trying to help, his young face lined with worry from burdens he shouldn't have had to face at his age; and Josiah returning from India for the funeral, solemn and dulled, as though the light had been put out inside him again.

Chris had felt like a failure all over again. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd let down another child, his own this time whom he should have been able to protect against anything, and a woman he'd loved more than his own life.

When he'd eventually pulled himself out of the quicksand of grief and guilt, trying once again to reconstruct his life and find a reason to go on living, his brothers had presented him with one. More than one, really. Buck had kept the ranch going through the years with grim determination, constantly pricking Chris to care about it again, to care about what it represented to them: the family, the home, the center they all needed, no matter what happened or how far they wandered. He'd rejected the idea at first, feeling the uselessness of working long, hard hours for no purpose; it had meant something when he'd had Sarah dreaming with him and plans to include Adam in its running as the boy grew up. Now, it was meaningless.

Except that his brothers were there, still loving him and doggedly sticking to him despite the way he'd treated them.

And Josiah, he discovered, had initiated a search for their little brothers, now gone from them for nineteen years. It had seemed hopeless, but the laws regarding adoption records had been relaxed and Josiah, with Nathan's help and encouragement, thought there might be a chance of tracking them down.

It thrilled him and terrified him by turns, thinking of seeing his baby brothers again. Can lost family ever really be reclaimed? They'd know nothing of him or the ranch or the family. Why would they care?

But even if they didn't care, he couldn't deny feeling an increasing desire--even a need--to see them one more time. To see how they'd grown up. To try to find out once and for all if they'd been all right all these years, if they'd been with good people, if they had families they loved and if they were happy. That's all he really wanted: to know finally that his brothers were safe and happy. If he could only know they were all right, it would ease some of the guilt and fear he'd carried around for the past twenty years. He reckoned it was the same for Josiah and Buck.

They'd all got involved in the search, though it was Josiah who did the brunt of it. Emotionally, though, they were all involved. Adam's birth had in large measure healed the pain they'd carried since losing their little brothers; now it seemed the only thing that would help them survive the pain of losing Adam was to find their brothers. It was like a ghastly circle they couldn't ever break free of.

But now it appeared they might have had their first success.

The laws wouldn't let them access the adoption records. It did, however, allow social workers to get in touch with the adopted boys and ask them if they wished to have contact with their birth family. If the boys said no, that would be the end of it. At least by the straightforward method.

"They changed his name!" Josiah had announced, barging into the kitchen two days earlier, waving a paper like a dervish with a sword.

"What?" Buck had looked up, blinking.

"Sammy. The office contacted me today and said he'd like to meet us."

"Oh, lord," Buck breathed, the blood draining from his face. "Really? Are they sure it's him?"

Chris had felt light-headed. Sammy was six months old when they'd last seen him; he'd be almost twenty now. All grown up. Christ. What would he be like? What would he look like? Dark like their father? Fair like his mother? What color were his eyes? Chris couldn't remember anything about Sammy's eyes but a brightness and sparkle of infant gaiety or infant pique.

He tuned back in as Buck spoke.

"We knew they'd change his name, Josiah. They're not going to adopt a kid and call him Larabee."

"No, no, I mean his first name. He's not called Sammy. His name is John Deacon Dunne." Josiah peered at the paper. "Junior."

Buck snorted. "He ain't 'junior' to no adopted father!"

"Buck, they're all the parents he's known."

Buck glared at Chris, then shrugged. "He's still our blood, no one else's." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "John Deacon Dunne. John Dunne. I suppose I could get used to calling him Johnny instead of Sammy."

Josiah and Chris exchanged a grin. Good old Buck, always adaptable.

"When are we gonna get to meet him?" Chris asked.

"He's taking the bus from Tacoma day after tomorrow. Nathan'll meet him at the bus station in Seattle and bring him out here."

Tacoma. All these years, he'd been that close and they'd never known.

And the day after tomorrow was now tomorrow. They'd fixed up the guest room for him, the room Sarah had used as a sewing room and which had been Josiah's when he was a child. Josiah had moved into the master bedroom after Sarah's death, when Chris hadn't been able to stand being in there any longer. They'd started to build an addition on the side of the house when he and Sarah had been planning to have a big family during those golden years, and Chris had finished the bathroom and two bedrooms well enough for living in when he'd been pulling himself out of the black pit of grief and drunkenness, sinking himself into hard labor to keep his mind away from the pain. He now occupied one of the Spartan rooms in the addition.

Everything was ready.

"At least we managed one thing, Dad," he said, quietly ironic as he watched the sun sink toward the horizon and listened to Buck whistling loudly off-key in the kitchen. "One of your babies is coming home. Maybe not for long, but at least...at least we'll know at last if he's all right."

:::::::

The bus would reach Seattle just before noon. It was a three-hour drive to Four Corners, depending on how bad the traffic was heading out of the city. If they stopped to eat along the way, they'd be here by four at the latest.

It was 3:47 when dust heralded the arrival of Nathan's Volvo. Chris stood on the porch with his brothers, feeling as though he were in a surreal play. A young man was coming who was his flesh and blood, and yet he knew nothing about him. He wouldn't be able to pick him out in a crowd. He didn't have a clue what to expect.

Nathan brought the car to a smooth halt and got out. He threw them a reassuring smile and a nod, then stretched and walked around the car, waiting as the passenger door opened. A young man stepped out and looked around quickly, then lifted his eyes to the porch as Josiah moved down the stairs, going to greet him.

A smile lit the youthful face under an untidy fall of black hair. Dark hair, silky and thick, like Buck's and like their father's. He didn't look anything like Buck, though, or like any of them, though he did seem to share Buck's gregarious lack of shyness.

He was smiling happily at Josiah as they shook hands.

"John Deacon, I'm Josiah. I'm pleased to meet you, brother."

"Oh, man, I can't tell you how glad I am to meet you! All of you," he said, shooting a look from expressive dark eyes up at Buck and Chris and over to Nathan. "But call me JD."

"Not Johnny?" Buck's voice was heavy with disappointment as he strode down the stairs. "Damn, boy, I just got myself used to saying that in my head."

"Johnny?" The kid's voice dripped with disgust. "Do I look like a Johnny to you?"

"Well, I don't rightly know," Buck drawled, an amused smile turning up the corners of his mobile mouth. "What does a JD look like?"

"Like me!" JD smiled cockily, showing even white teeth, and held out his hand. Buck laughed as they shook hands. "You're Buck, right? Nathan said I'd recognize you by the twinkle in your eye."

"He did, did he?" Buck slanted an amused look at Nathan, who winked at him. "And how were you supposed to recognize Josiah?"

"Josiah's the oldest. Sorry, Josiah," he said, aside, before turning back to Buck. "And I'm the youngest and Chris is the blond. Lord howdy, I never knew I had any family! I didn't even know I was adopted till Mom got sick, and then she thought she'd better tell me, I guess, because I had a right to know, but she didn't know anything about my real family. I mean, Mom was my mom and all, but it was just me and her growing up and I always wanted to have a brother. Course, I used to hope for a little one."

He grinned disarmingly at them as Josiah, Buck, and Nathan all laughed. It was so much more easeful than Chris had ever imagined it could be that he felt something tight and painful loosen inside him, and some of the horrible wounds closed up. He moved down the stairs.

JD quieted as Chris approached. Chris smiled at him, wondering if he looked forbidding. Some people tended to think so.

"I'm Chris." He held out his hand. "I'm glad to meet you. Glad you decided to come out here and see us."

"Oh, yes, sir," JD breathed, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "Nothing could have kept me away. Soon as I got the call that my real family would like to talk to me, well, I just couldn't wait. But she didn't say I had so many brothers. When I called the number she gave me and I talked to Nathan, I could've fallen over when he said there were four of you."

They were moving slowly up the stairs and into the house as the motormouth kept running.

"Since Mom died six months ago, I've felt all alone, you know. I mean, we didn't have any family; it was always just the two of us. So it's like a--a surprise present finding out I have a big family all my own."

He stopped as they reached the living room, looked abruptly embarrassed, and said, "Sorry. I always talk too much when I'm nervous."

"That's all right, son," Buck said. "We're all pretty nervous here; some of us just don't show it as much. Sit down and make yourself at home. If you hadn't been adopted, this is the house you would've grown up in, so it is your home. What would you like to drink? A beer?"

"I'd love a glass of milk." The boy spoke absently, sinking down onto the sofa and looking with big eyes around the room.

"Milk." Buck gave a crooked grin. "Okay."

They talked for hours. They ate pizza heated in the oven with a green salad Nathan made, with JD's enthusiastic help. The boy had more energy than a corral full of green colts. They found out JD's adoptive father had died when he was three, so he didn't remember him. He'd grown up with just his mother, who appeared to have been a devoted parent. She'd had to struggle to support him on her own, but, as far as Chris could see, she'd done a damn good job. JD was a fine young man. He appeared to be at something of a loose end, not really wanting to go to college the way his mother had hoped, but a good person with his head screwed-on right. If he managed to survive his own enthusiasms, he'd make a helluva man. Hell, Buck had managed to survive all right; no reason this kid wouldn't, too.

It was late when JD fell silent and picked up his empty glass, fingering it nervously. Finally, he looked up. He met each of their eyes in turn, and said, "Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask anything you want." Buck smiled at him warmly.

"You don't have to tell me or anything, but, uh, I've just been wondering ever since Mom told me I was adopted-- That is, I wondered how come I was given up and the rest of you weren't?"

After a silence, Josiah said, quietly, "We did everything we could to keep you, brother. It was a car crash that killed our parents--our father, that was, and your mother. She was stepmother to the rest of us, but we loved her dearly. We loved you, too. I know that's just words, but it's true. We've loved you all these years even though we had no idea where you were."

Buck said, with a grin in his voice that broke the somber mood, "We called you Sammy, though. Our baby brother Sammy."

"Sammy!" The kid pulled a face. He tried it out: "Sammy. Sammy."

"Yup. Sammy the Screamer."

JD poked Buck in the ribs; Buck mimed agony. "You did not call me that!"

"Well, Buck did." Chris chuckled and the others joined in.

"Samuel McLellan Larabee." Josiah's soft, contemplative voice was like a wisp of memory wafting like a feather in the old, familiar room.

Chris smiled sadly. They might have found their youngest brother, but Samuel McLellan Larabee didn't exist anymore, and never would again. Whatever the child who had borne that name would have grown up to be like, he would have been different from the young man sitting in their midst.

But JD Dunne was a fine man to call brother. Chris straightened in his seat and put away forever all thoughts of Samuel McLellan Larabee.

"I think I'd better stick to JD." The boy was looking around at each of them shyly, as if he thought he might offend them. "I guess I'm sort of used to it."

"Of course you are," Josiah assured him. "And we're glad to welcome JD Dunne to the family. You know, Buck and I don't have the Larabee last name ourselves..." and he launched into telling a fascinated JD the reasons why two of his brothers had different surnames, and why Nathan was legally Nathan Jackson instead of the Nathan Jackson Larabee he'd been born.

They told him the story of their parents' deaths and the way Family Services hadn't let them keep any of the younger four. He looked big-eyed at Nathan, who smiled and reassured him he'd lived with his aunt and uncle quite comfortably. JD asked about his other two brothers--his full brothers--and frowned when they told him they'd had no word on them yet.

"It's not fair to do that to families, making them pretend kids don't even exist." He flushed. "I mean, I loved my mom. I'm glad I grew up with her since I never knew my real family, but, uh, I don't see why I couldn't have had visits with all of you as well. I don't see how that could've hurt. I bet Mom wouldn't have minded. She always wanted a big family. She and my dad hoped to adopt at least one more child since she couldn't have any babies, but he died too soon."

He looked sad, as he had every time he mentioned his mother. The boy was as mercurial as Buck, especially Buck when he was younger. Chris smiled, already feeling himself getting attached to this young man who was a stranger, yet oddly familiar. He could see Buck's big heart was already wrapping itself around the kid, and Josiah and Nathan liked him.

Their family had become five. They'd been three for years, with Nathan part of them but not with them; then they'd become four when Nathan had turned eighteen and come north to live near them again. Now, suddenly, they were five. Chris felt the poignancy of the moment, looking across the room at JD's shining youthful face, at the way the lamp lit on his dark hair just the way it used to do on their father's and the way it did on Buck's. JD was smaller than all of the rest of them; he took after his petite mother in that way. His real mother, the one he'd never had a chance to know, but who had given him her small bones along with her energy and, quite apparently, her cheerful, loving nature. Though that might be a result of his adoptive mother's influence, too. He knew all about love and family, thanks to her; that was clear.

She'd done well by him. And now he was back with them and the world was somewhat righted.

They went to bed, talked out at last. JD had no plans. He was thrilled to be on a real horse ranch. Turned out horses were a passion of his, though he'd never had much chance to be around them, growing up a city boy in a family without money for luxuries like riding lessons. Buck's eyes had lit up as he'd promised to teach the kid to ride, and the two of them went to bed with the same happy expectation shining in their eyes.

Chris lay awake for a time. They'd actually managed it; they'd actually found their baby brother and brought him home. And, judging by Buck's response to the kid, they might just end up keeping him around.

Most comforting of all was knowing, after all these years, their baby brother had been loved and cared for. The knowledge was a balm on the hurt of having been denied the chance to look after him themselves. They hadn't been allowed, but someone else had done it right.

:::::::

JD Dunne fit in so well at the ranch it seemed as though he'd always been there. He adored the horses. He happily followed Buck about learning everything he could, and showed he had a natural aptitude, mastering the basics of riding with enviable ease.

"Whoo hoo!" Buck chortled. "Did you see that? That boy is a Larabee, sure and tooting!"

JD, flushed with excitement and happiness, had looked over triumphantly at them as he rode out his restive mount's attempt to buck him off. The next moment, though, his smile faded as the gelding moved determinedly to the fence, ignoring JD's attempts to rein him away, and proceeded to rub against the boards until JD was forced to drag his leg out of the way. At the shift in weight, the wily horse tossed him to the ground.

Buck's happy laughter echoed around the yard. Chris smiled, watching JD disgustedly picking himself up and shooting a frown at Buck. The boy then proceeded to pull the gelding away from the fence and attempt to mount. It became a comic exercise of wills as JD hopped about only able to get one foot in the stirrup while the horse danced and twisted, which had Buck in stitches and Chris not even trying to hide his grin, while Nathan shook his head with a smile and Josiah chuckled. When it had gone on long enough, Chris nudged Buck into the corral to give JD another lesson, and the rest of them drifted away.

When Nathan and Josiah returned to Seattle, JD stayed at the ranch. He was eager and willing to do anything and everything, from fence mending to painting to mucking out. His cheerful nature was a shaft of sunshine in the house, and his and Buck's laughter filled rooms that had been somber and quiet for too long. Mad was outright thrilled to have someone about who had as much energy as she did and the sheepdog trotted happily at JD's heels.

Within a month--and Chris was privately surprised Buck held out that long--Buck asked the others if they couldn't invite JD to stay for good and make him a legal co-owner of the ranch along with the rest of them.

When the proposition was made to JD, he was struck silent, his mouth dropping open. "Stay here? Forever? I mean, bring my things and move in and live here like it's my home? Do you mean it?"

"Hell, yeah, we mean it." Buck's voice rang with decisiveness. "You belong here as much as any of us, and, besides, we can do with the help since Nathan's away mostly and Josiah comes and goes. It ain't a cakewalk here, but you already know that."

JD looked at Chris, who nodded at him. "We wanted you with us since you were born. That's never changed. This is the Larabee family ranch. Don't matter what the state says about rights and legalities; this ranch is as much your birthright as it is ours."

They had the papers drawn up, much to the local lawyer's incredulity and disapproval. He lectured Chris on the dangers of handing over a share of the ranch to a virtual stranger, who might be out to cheat them out of their savings. He then lectured JD on the dangers of accepting a share of a double mortgaged ranch from strangers, who might be getting ready to stick him with the debts. JD snorted eloquently, a habit he'd already picked up from Buck. The papers were signed, and JD Dunne was legally a part of the family again. He took the bus to Tacoma to close up his apartment and returned within a week with all his belongings stuffed into several battered suitcases and some boxes.

The following weeks were a mingling of both good and bad. JD fit in better than Chris could ever have hoped. He was eager to learn and eager to share his enthusiasms. It seemed that nothing in the world suited him better than living on a struggling little horse ranch in the middle of nowhere and working himself to exhaustion day after day. In an eerie way, Chris could sometimes actually see the contented, gurgling Sammy in this almost-grown young man. Sammy had always been readier to laugh than cry, happy for any excuse at all to exchange tears for big toothless grins.

JD's optimism and enthusiasm was good for all of them. He even retained faith they'd one day find his two missing brothers. They'd found him, hadn't they? So they'd find the others, too!

That possibility had hit a snag, though, when the Family Services office in Seattle informed them efforts to contact both of their other brothers had led to dead ends. They'd used all the resources at their disposal, but no hint of the boys' whereabouts could be found. When implored to give them their brothers' new names so they could try to find them themselves, the office gave a categorical no. It was strictly against policy. The names of their families were confidential.

Gloom hit at this news. Would they have to give up the dream of discovering what had happened to their last two brothers? Chris wondered morosely if he would ever manage to free himself from the weight of not knowing about the fates of the trust'ems.

Until JD made an offhand comment: "Well, hell, I don't see why Buck doesn't just use his 'animal maggotism' and charm the names out of those women in the office!"

Chris had frozen, a glass halfway to his mouth. Josiah had turned and stared at JD, then looked speculatively at Buck. Buck had started to laugh, then stopped, looking thoughtful. JD, oblivious, had gone on rambling about various half-related topics.

Two days later, Campaign Ani-Mag had started. Buck had gone to Seattle with Josiah and the light of battle in his eyes. Chris did the ranching chores alongside JD, tension in his belly that never quite dissipated as he waited. He seemed to have been waiting on matters outside his control for most of the years of his life. He was pretty damn sick of the situation, truth be told, living with butterflies in his stomach, constantly wondering, constantly tense.

Buck returned two weeks later with a grin bright enough to out-shine the sun, and Josiah grinning right alongside him.

"You didn't," Chris breathed, looking with amazed disbelief at his brother.

"Chris, you have got to start having some faith in me, old dog!" Buck boomed, catching him up in his strong arms and swinging him around until a well-placed knee made him drop Chris back to the porch with a theatrical groan. "I have been telling you for years how irresistible I am to women of taste! And, boy howdy, did that little Jodey have good taste."

He smacked his lips. JD was staring gape-mouthed.

"Well, if she fell for you, she couldn't've been very smart, no matter what her taste was like!"

After Buck and JD had sorted out their greeting to each other with a brief hectic chase around the yard, Chris called them inside, too impatient to wait any longer.

"So?" he demanded, looking at Buck.

Buck lost his smile and grew serious as he drew a paper from his pocket. He handed the paper to Josiah, who unfolded it with maddening slowness. Chris clenched and relaxed his fingers.

"Well?"

Josiah read, "Ezra Parnell Simpson. Henry Vincent Tanner."

Chris closed his eyes in the silence that followed. Like all of the boys who had carried their father's surname, the three youngest had their mother's maiden name as their middle one: Ezra McLellan Larabee and Vin McLellan Larabee were gone as surely as Samuel McLellan Larabee. He opened his eyes and looked at JD's now familiar face, at the spark of excitement and happiness in the dark eyes, at the optimism curving the wide mouth up at the corners in what he had come to know as a typical JD look. JD was JD, and JD was their brother; didn't matter what name he had.

"At least they kept Ezra's first name. And Vin's--sort of," Buck was saying.

"Yeah." Chris cleared his throat and managed a smile. "You did good, Buck. Real good."

Buck looked gratified and they shared a warm look. He and Buck had always been especially close because of their ages, just like the trust'ems later on.

Josiah continued, still looking at the sparse writing on the paper, "Last known address for the Tanners was Lubbock, Texas. That's a long way from home."

"Yeah," Buck said. "Seems they don't track the movements of parents who adopt kids once the adoptions are finalized, which takes about six months. We were just real lucky that JD's family stayed put in the state, and right in Tacoma, too, where they were living when he was adopted."

"What about Ezra?" JD asked.

"Saint Louis." Josiah folded the precious paper and handed it across to Chris. Chris opened it and stared at the crabbed writing that held the secret they'd been seeking for almost two decades.

"So we know where to look, right?" JD spoke with infectious eagerness. "Maybe their families were like mine and stayed put once they got settled. They might even be in the phone book!"

"Kid, if it were that easy, the Department of Family Services in those places would have been able to find them when they got the request from the Seattle office," Buck said, gently.

"Oh, right." JD's face fell.

"Doesn't matter," Chris said. "We've got a place to start. We're gonna need help, though. We can't go haring off all over the map hoping to stumble across them. Hell, we don't even know what they look like. Josiah, reckon you can find a good private detective in Seattle?"

"I don't think I'll have a problem." Josiah frowned, looking sharply at him.

"How're we gonna pay for it?" Buck asked. "Those guys don't come cheap."

"We'll use the money we've been saving to buy that ten acres from Webster." Chris felt the rightness of the decision in his belly. "It ain't all that much, but--"

"We'll see how far it goes, and keep saving." Buck nodded with determination.

"All right! Now we're cooking!" JD grinned at the pained looks he got from his elders.

The Simpson lead in Saint Louis went nowhere. The private detective they hired couldn't find anything to go on. He had better luck in Lubbock, where the Tanners appeared to have lived at least long enough to enroll Vin in first grade. Having little money, which was quickly being eaten up by the expenses, they made the reluctant decision to focus entirely on the Tanner leads. They all skimped, putting every spare dollar they could into the kitty, not sure how long the search would take. The P.I. followed the Tanners' trail from Lubbock to other Texas towns and beyond--a long, complicated trail of brief stops and many moves. He worked from lead to lead because Tanner wasn't an unusual name, eliminating other possibilities along the way as much as he could within the restricted resources he had. Within five days, he reported possible success.

A Henry Vincent Tanner had been found via a driver's license registered in Sierra Vista, Arizona. No guarantee, but it was a good possibility he was the right one. The P.I. delivered a phone number to Josiah and accepted his final payment.

They had a number. Chris's hands were sweaty as he stared at the phone sitting on the kitchen table. He wiped his hands on his jeans and took another sip of coffee. They'd decided to make the call together and were just waiting for Buck and JD to finish the late afternoon chores. Evening would be the best time, they'd figured. If they didn't catch the man in tonight, then they'd try again in the morning. They hadn't had enough funds for the P.I. to verify absolutely the identity of this Tanner or to determine what kind of job he did or what family he had. All he'd done was track down names in various records, eliminating those he could find verification wasn't their brother. It was likely this Henry Vincent Tanner currently of a small Arizona town was their brother, but there was no guarantee.

What do you say to a brother you haven't seen in almost twenty years? A brother who likely won't remember you at all? Or maybe not even know you exist, for that matter. He wished Nathan were home. Nathan had contacted JD; he knew what to say. Though JD was so easy to talk to that it probably hadn't been that difficult and he'd already been alerted by Family Services.

Ah, hell, Vin was only four years older than JD; he wasn't much more than a kid himself. He'd been a cheerful, easygoing little fellow right up until that last awful week. He might be a lot like JD. It might all just be easy as pie.

Or it might not be the right Vin at all.

The others came in. They forced themselves to eat supper, but it was a silent, tense affair. No point in rushing. Give the man time to get home from work, if he held a regular type job, and have some dinner and get settled for the evening. They kept an eye on the clock, keeping in mind the time difference, not to leave it too late in case he went to bed early.

Finally, determinedly, Josiah pulled the phone to himself across the cleared table and dialed. They could hear it ringing faintly, but they couldn't hear the voice that answered.

"Is this Henry Vincent Tanner?" After a moment, Josiah said, "My name's Josiah Sanchez. This is difficult, but, uh.... That is--"

"Say it!" Buck said, impatiently.

Josiah glared at him and took a breath. "Thing is, uh, my brothers and I were wondering if, uh, you might be our long-lost...um...brother."

Chris rolled his eyes as Buck groaned and JD dropped his face into his hands.

"Give me that!" Buck grabbed the phone before Josiah could fend him off, and spoke rapidly: "Hey, Vin, this is Buck. I'm another brother--no, no, no! Don't hang up! It's not a joke, I swear, Josiah just got tongue-tied, he does that when you need him most! Here, don't go away, talk to Chris."

Chris juggled the phone pushed into his hands and put it cautiously to his ear.

"Hello?" Chris fended off Buck's elbow in his ribs, listening to the soft breathing on the line that was all that told him the man was still there.

"Yeah, all right. You're Chris, I take it." The Texas-accented voice was low and raspy.

Chris took a relieved breath. "That's right. Chris Larabee. I know this sounds crazy, but we had a little brother called Vin who was taken away from us when he was four. The state wouldn't let us keep him when our parents were killed, and they wouldn't tell us who adopted him or what happened to him. We've been searching for you--or him, at least--for years. And, uh, we're hoping we've found the right Vin at last."

There was a long silence before the even voice said, "Vin?"

"Yeah. Vin was our little brother's first name, called after a great-great-granddaddy--some number of greats--who won a medal in the Civil War."

He listened to a few moments of soft breathing before the distinctive voice spoke again.

"Four years old?"

"Right."

"What'd he say?" JD asked piercingly, then ducked as Buck whacked him with his Mariners cap.

"Yeah, I was adopted around that age, I reckon. And my mom used to say I wouldn't answer to nothing but Vin, real stubborn about it. They finally gave up trying to call me anything else."

"Do you happen to know where you were living when you were adopted?"

Chris held his breath through another silence.

"My parents were living up north, somewhere near the Canadian border. Bellingham or somewhere like that."

He let out the breath, feeling lightness cautiously seep into him. "The ranch--our family ranch--is a few hours' drive from Bellingham."

Barely any pause at all this time. "Ranch?"

"Yup. I know you were real young, but you don't by any chance remember any names, do you? Josiah or Chris? Buck? Nathan?"

"No, sorry. I do sort of remember horses, though. We lived in towns when I was little; I was twelve before I saw a real horse, but I used to dream about them all the time and always thought I knew what they were like. What they smelled like and felt like and such. Your ranch ain't a horse ranch, is it?"

Chris closed his eyes. "Yeah," he managed to say, feeling short of breath. "Yeah, it is. Dad used to take you riding with him; hell, all of us older ones did. You loved the horses. You were learning to ride pretty good, too, when--when they took you away."

The Texas-accented voice grew even softer. "I always thought I must've dreamed that up. My parents didn't know the first thing about horses."

Chris didn't know what to say to that. He wanted to say Vin's parents had known everything about horses, but he couldn't. Vin's parents were the ones he knew, not lost faces and voices from too far back for him to remember. He felt choked up and only distantly felt the phone being pried from his fingers.

JD's eager voice sounded near his ear: "Hey, Vin? I'm JD. I'm the youngest brother; I was adopted, too, but Family Services tracked me down. I've been living at the ranch here for a few months now. We'd really like to meet you. I'd really like to. I couldn't believe I had all these brothers waiting for me; it's the neatest thing...."

JD was the one who managed to make the arrangements, and JD exuberantly went with Buck in the pick-up to meet Vin at SeaTac a week later. They stopped for lunch in Seattle so Vin and Nathan could meet, and then the three of them drove to the ranch, arriving just on suppertime.

Chris felt the seething anxiety of waiting as he worked quietly in the kitchen beside an equally quiet Josiah.

"A good day, brother," Josiah said, thoughtfully.

Chris looked at Josiah's pensive gaze out the window. He knew Josiah was as nervous as he was at the prospect of meeting another stranger who might have nothing in common with them. Vin sounded all right on the phone, but twenty years is a lot to bridge.

He put a hand on Josiah's shoulder and squeezed. "We were lucky with JD; we might be lucky again."

Luck. He hadn't felt lucky for years. He'd thought he'd been blessed when he'd met Sarah, as though all the bad things in life could be put behind him with a glorious new life and love filling his days. He'd thought he was lucky, only to find even worse luck following too soon after.

When the pick-up arrived, they went outside onto the porch. He studied the lanky young man who emerged from the truck with a shell-shocked look on his handsome face. Maybe it hadn't been fair to inflict Buck and JD on the poor man right from the start; being cooped up with those two on a three-hour ride was tantamount to torture. The amusement must have shown because he saw an answering glint in clear blue eyes as his second youngest brother stepped up next to him and held out a strong, callused hand.

Vin was taller than JD, though not quite as tall as the rest of them. He was the fairest of them next to Chris, with light brown hair that rippled over his shoulders. His mother had had that wavy hair, though hers was blonder. His eyes, though, bright crystal blue, were identical to hers. Chris stared into them mesmerized for a few moments, feeling as though he'd looked at a fingerprint proving this stranger's identity.

Vin had a scruffy, casual look to him, but he was clean and open-faced and honest looking. His eyes looked straight into Chris's and he didn't seem to hold anything back. He didn't look like he'd lived an easy life, but he seemed strong and sure in himself. Chris oddly felt all the tension and nervousness slip away from him like water streaming down a peaked roof as he looked into eyes vivid as a dream of the past.

They went into the living room. Vin stood in the middle of the floor and looked about himself. Chris watched him, wondering how disorienting it might be to step into a strange house among strangers who were claiming this place was once his home and they were his family. A hushed silence permeated the room as they settled quietly into chairs. Chris glanced around and saw all his brothers' eyes pinned on Vin. He wondered if his own face looked as hopeful, and frowned to dispel any such vulnerability. He'd been disappointed often enough with how events had touched his family, dismantling it over and over again. He'd learned to deal with matters as they came, one by one.

And what did it matter, at the end of the day, if Vin remembered them or not? JD's having no memories of them made no difference. Though, in his case, he'd been an infant and there was no expectation that he might remember any of them whereas they couldn't help hoping that maybe Vin would share some of the memories the rest of them had; that he might recall one of them, or this place, or some happy event. The little boy Vin had laughed and cried in these rooms; laughed more than cried, his clear voice ringing out gaily. No denying it would somehow be nice if he could remember any of that charming little boy they'd loved, as though his memories alone could bring them back to vivid life for the rest of them.

He could feel the expectancy in the hush. It struck him as odd, then, that it was JD's cautious voice that rose first.

"So, do you recognize anything? Anything at all look familiar?" JD sounded as eager as though the response could have any kind of actual meaning to him. Maybe JD, too, felt Vin's memory might hold some kind of verification that this was, in fact, their actual brother and that he'd be able to slide right back into his life like he was meant to belong.

Vin's head was moving around the room, at the moment making a lingering scan of the framed photographs on the mantel. He shook his head slowly, but his eyes continued to roam, taking in details. He tilted his head and looked up the height of the brick fireplace to the ceiling, then turned to gaze at the fan light in the middle of the ceiling.

"Hell," Buck laughed, "not much chance of you recognizing anything from way up there. You were knee-high to a grasshopper when you were last here; the only time you ever saw anything from near six-feet off the ground was when one of us was holding you. And then you were usually either laughing so much you didn't pay attention to what you could see or kicking and protesting because you didn't want to go to bed, have a bath, stop playing to have supper, or quit making a racket hitting the brass woodbox with your plastic hammer!"

Josiah barked a laugh. "I'd forgotten his musical side. If he wasn't trying to use every object as a drum with that hammer, he was trying to play that little recorder somebody put in his stocking." He looked meaningfully at Buck, who laughed and held up his hands in a surrender gesture.

"Hey, he looked cute puffing away into that thing, his face turning bright red with the effort, trying to get some sound out of it!"

"Yeah, and when he couldn't make enough noise with it to satisfy him, he had two makeshift drumsticks to go at the furniture with."

"Can't stifle youthful creativity, Chris...."

Buck's voice petered out as Vin moved at last. Rather than going to sit in a chair, however, he went gracefully to his knees in the middle of the floor, then lowered his head and shoulders. He tipped his head toward Buck. "Knee-high to a grasshopper?"

Buck's smile was surprised, but warm. "Crunch down a bit more there, pal. You were a scrawny little mite."

Vin snorted, but folded his body down farther until he was getting a child's level view of the room. His eyes passed Chris's legs, traveled on as he swiveled on his knees, then he froze. Chris followed his line of vision to the fireplace and his breath caught. The room went still as Vin got up and walked the few feet across the room, then crouched. He reached out a tentative hand and hovered it just above the pile of clear glass balls clustered in a woven cedar basket at the side of the hearth. Vin ran his hand over one ball's smooth surface, then touched another, then a third that had a green tinge to the glass. His touch was delicate as the flutter of a butterfly's wing. He twisted his shoulders to look at the window, then back to the balls.

Chris studied Vin's face as Vin studied the balls. He could sense pent-up emotion more than he could read any kind of disturbance in the even features.

"Those were brought to the house by Chris and Buck's mother when she married Dad." Josiah's soft voice complemented, rather than broke, the hush in the room. "She grew up in a village on the coast. From the time she was a child, she'd gathered the balls when they washed up on the beach."

"Washed up from where?" JD was staring at the balls as though he hadn't really noticed them before.

"Japanese fishermen use them to give buoyancy to their nets. The balls work free sometimes, travel across the ocean and land on beaches where the currents are right. They're rare, and it's something of a miracle that some actually make it all that way without breaking on their long journey."

"The sun used to make 'em shine so pretty they looked like they'd been dropped from heaven," Vin's soft rasp broke in. Chris followed his eyes to the swathe of sunlight lying across the floor a couple of feet away. In an hour, the rays would reach the fireplace and slant across the balls as it had been doing for almost four decades. "I weren't allowed to touch them, but there was a glass." He looked around, frowning, his narrowed eyes probing into corners and around the windows. "A glass with a lot of colored lights in it that I was allowed to touch; it could be tilted and it made colors dance on the walls."

"The prism in your bedroom window." Chris stood up and tilted his head. Vin joined him. They went into the room that had originally been the trust'ems', then Adam's. A large, rectangular prism hung on a long buckskin thong from the wooden frame between the upper and lower sashes. It rested just above the window sill, high enough to catch the light, low enough for small bodies to see and reach it, with the help of a stool. Vin went straight to it and put a hand out with a delicate motion, as though reaching for something so fragile it'd disappear in a puff of smoke. His touch sent the prism in a lazy spin and lights flickered against Vin's hand.

"Yeah. That's it." His whisper was full of wonder and disbelief.

"Dad hung that up there for you and Ezra. This was your room."

Vin turned to survey the room. The one small bed was bare; the shelves empty. Chris had destroyed many of his son's belongings in rage that they should survive when their owner hadn't. Buck and Nathan had packed up the rest one day when Chris had gone on a bender; they'd given the lot away to charity, along with Sarah's clothes, the ones Chris hadn't yet shredded. He'd raged at them, too, for doing it, but it was easier when the things were gone; a blankness in the house to match the barrenness in his soul.

The room looked dingy now, unused and unloved. The only brightness in it was the prism that spun its colors even through its coating of dust.

He noticed Vin studying him and froze for a moment as a wash of understanding seemed to pulse between them like a warm tidal pool lapping at his senses. He shook himself away from the unsettling sense of connection. He gave a quick grimace he hoped would pass as a smile, and turned away, leading Vin back to the living room. The others looked up as they entered; JD's dark eyes were alight with excitement.

"You really remember?" His voice was as hushed as if the enormity of this event were happening to himself.

Vin nodded and shrugged. "Reckon I must. I remember the balls and the prism. Too much to be a coincidence, I suppose."

Silence fell. Vin didn't seem to be much of a talker at the best of times, and he looked faintly shaken, the way Chris felt. Awkwardness seemed to grip them all in a strangling hold. It was impossible to tell if Vin was pleased or sad or what he felt about recovering part of his distant past.

Not unpredictably, it was Buck who eased them all out of the awkwardness. "Well, now, I'm not sure if I should be insulted or not. You remember horses and you remember bits of glass, but you don't have any memory of big ole brother Buck? After all the rides I took you on and all the candy I sneaked you and all the times I helped you dispose of your green beans? Now, that's just uncomplimentary."

Josiah rumbled a laugh. Tension eased away from Chris without his having realized how tightly he'd been holding his body.

"But you really remember. That's just so cool!" JD's bounce was back in his voice and his body as he got up from the chair and waved Vin to it. "You've come home, like me. Isn't it the coolest feeling?"

He looked expectantly at Vin, who smiled. "Yeah, kid, it's quite the feeling." He looked once more around the room and gazed out the window. "Never imagined a Texas boy'd hail from this far north. I ain't never been farther north than Albuquerque. I been to both coasts, though."

"Really? Wow." JD frowned for a moment. "I guess I haven't been farther south than...Portland. Or farther east than here."

Buck sputtered a laugh. "Good God, boy! You need your horizons expanding." He waggled his eyebrows. "And I ain't talking dirty this time."

"Oh, Buck." But JD grinned as he relaxed into the couch next to Josiah.

Much of the tension in the day seeped away in Vin's easy company. To have recovered two lost little brothers was amazing enough; to have discovered two brothers who were as different as night and day as Vin and JD took some getting used to. Vin was friendly and forthcoming when bombarded with questions, but he didn't volunteer much about himself, tending to alert-eyed silence if left to himself. As they lingered over after-supper coffee a few hours later, Buck smiled at Chris and tipped his head toward Vin.

"Got us one almost as quiet as you, Chris. I don't recall him being this quiet when he was a whippersnapper, though he never did talk as much as Ezra."

"Shit, no one ever talked as much as Ezra."

Buck laughed. "Remember how he used to talk so fast he cut off all his words and spoke in this kind of Ezra-code?"

Josiah shook his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Me pee flau f'ma."

"What is that?" JD's eyes were wide with bemusement.

"I picked flowers for Momma." Chris looked at Josiah and Buck. "You know, the really scary thing is how well we all understood him."

The three of them laughed. Chris laughed harder when Vin and JD exchanged a brow-raised look that questioned the sanity of their elders. Second thoughts about hooking up with these strangers might be swirling through Vin's brain right about now.

"Yeah, you can always depend on your family to understand you even if no one else does," Buck said, a wistful tone in his voice.

"So Ezra's another brother?"

Chris sobered, turning to look at Vin. Hadn't anyone told him? He looked at Buck, who shrugged and shook his head. Buck looked as startled as Chris felt.

"Yeah, Ezra's our other brother, our full brother," JD told Vin. "Yours and mine, I mean. He was--" he looked at Josiah "--two years?" Josiah nodded. "Two years older than you. We haven't been able to find him yet. It looks like his family moved around even more than the P.I. said yours did."

There was another awkward silence, then Vin smiled at JD, eyes and face full of ease. "Yeah, my folks moved around a lot, all right, even though we never wandered all that far. Not as far as coming up here. My mom wanted to stay up here--her family had come from up this way--but my dad couldn't keep a job. They both thought he'd do better on home turf, so we headed to Texas when I was five."

Chris and Buck went out to the barn to do the evening chores. Vin went with them, standing between the stalls looking appreciatively at the horses. He drew in a deep breath of the animal-warm, pungent air, nostrils flaring, and looked oddly contented.

"You ever have much to do with horses?"

Vin shook his head, looking at Buck. "First time I saw a horse up close was when I was twelve. Fellow who owned him used to let me walk him around in exchange for helping out, but it was a real old horse. He was just out to pasture, eating grass and living the easy life. Guy who owned him was about as old. I couldn't get anything more than a walk around the pasture, or even just sitting on him while he grazed, but it felt real good." He smiled at the sleek animals in the stalls. "Never been close to any horses nice as these."

"They're a real nice ride. JD's taken to them fine and I'm guessing you will, too. I reckon it's in all our blood."

When they went inside, Josiah and JD had finished cleaning up in the kitchen and were seated in the living room. The curtains were drawn and the lamplight was warm on the oak wainscoting. Vin settled with a beer, JD with his milk.

JD looked hesitant, then took a breath. "So, it's okay if you don't want to answer or anything, I'm not trying to be nosy, but I was wondering if your parents are still alive? If you have, you know, lots of family of your own? Apart from us, I mean."

Chris watched the lamplight shine on the ripples of Vin's long hair as he turned his head. Vin looked at JD, then down at the beer bottle cradled between his tanned hands. His voice was a quiet rasp in the still room.

"My mom died when I was almost ten. We were living in a little town a few miles west of San Antone." He glanced at JD. "San Antonio's in southern Texas. My dad was doing pretty good. He had a car upholstery business he ran out of the back of a van. We even bought a house." He picked at the label on his beer bottle. "My mom cried the day we moved in. It was just a little bungalow, but it was the first house we'd lived in and the first place that was all hers. She was real proud of my dad and he was...so damned happy."

He stared into the middle distance for a few moments, then seemed to snap back to awareness with a duck of his head. He looked at JD and made an attempt to smile. "Anyway, yeah, my mom's dead, but my dad's still alive. I haven't seen him for awhile--I've been moving around, following work--but I check up on him whenever I get a chance, make sure he's doing okay."

His words hung in the air. Strangers trying to get to know each other, tentative and unsure. Vin looked at their watching faces; hell, it must feel like being on display at the fucking zoo!

"You don't have to tell us--"

"Nah, it's okay. I know." Vin shot Chris a grateful nod and took a breath. "My mom was the greatest. While she was alive, life was just...we moved around and we didn't have much money till near the end, when things got better, but we were damned happy. My dad was happy and my mom used to sing and laugh and she made wherever we lived a home. She just had this knack for making any place at all seem bright and cheerful and ours; I didn't notice at the time, but I figure, looking back, some of those places we lived in when I was young were dumps. They were just real nice homes to me because of her and my dad. There was lots of fun and love and we'd spend every weekend together, the three of us, doing things. My dad did good, too, building up that little business he had. He worked real hard and real long hours, but he'd play ball with me and stuff after supper no matter how tired he was. But then she died from this freak allergy reaction they couldn't treat in time and everything kind of fell apart."

He looked up again, looking slowly at each of them in turn before continuing. "My dad's not a bad man. He really ain't. He was a real good man and a great father when my mom was alive. But I reckon he's...just weak. Without my mom, he just couldn't handle anything. He tried hard at first to keep working, keep paying the bills, keep food on the table. He tried to hold it together for me. I didn't understand it all then, but I guess knowing he couldn't manage to do what he wanted for me was a pretty big burden on top of grieving for my mom.

"Anyway. He started drinking. He never hurt me or nothing; he never hit me in his life. He just stopped being there all the time, and when he was, he was usually passed out. When he wasn't, he'd sit and cry, sometimes about my mom, sometimes about how he was giving me a rotten life and how sorry he was. He used to say it over and over again, that he was sorry. I was never sure if he was talking to me or to my mom. I kept going to school and I learned to look after myself. I tried to look after him, too, but he just kept getting worse. He lost his business, lost the van; and we lost the house. Moved into a trailer on the outskirts of the city. I didn't go to school no more. My dad wasn't aware enough to enroll me and we'd moved away from my old one. It weren't a good time, but...."

He shrugged. "I know lots of kids had it a whole lot worse. Then my dad met Rita. She lived on the street, mostly; when she got some money from tricking, she'd rent a motel room. She was a drunk, like my dad. The two of them leaned on each other; they found something they needed in each other, I reckon, I don't know what, just something. Mostly what they shared was drinking together. Rita tricked when she couldn't keep sober enough to clean out motel rooms or stuff like that. My dad did day jobs cleaning toilets or washing cars or whatever he could get. They managed to keep enough aside to pay the rent on the trailer each month and Rita moved in with us. I wasn't real thrilled, but it turned out to be the luckiest break of my life because I got to know Rita's family."

He stood up and moved across the room to lean against the window frame. The light made a dark cut-out of his lean body and haloed his long, rippled hair. He looked down at the beer bottle he was holding, then took a long swig before lifting his head and continuing to speak in his quiet voice.

"She's Kickapoo. Her people have a reservation near Eagle Pass." Sunlight gilded a wavy lock of his hair as he turned again to JD. "That's on the Rio Grande southwest of San Antonio, right on the Mexican border. It ain't actually an official reservation, not theirs legally, but it's their traditional grounds. Some of them live there permanent, but most of them are migrant workers, so they come back to the rez when they ain't working around Texas or New Mexico or over the border into Coahuila. Rita ran from home when she was young, ended up on the streets, but she never lost touch with her parents and they're always ready to take her in. She was just too restless, maybe; and I guess maybe she ended up feeling ashamed, deep down. She and my dad share that, too."

Vin paused, staring blindly across the room for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued. "She and Dad cleaned themselves up one weekend and she took us out to meet her folks. They're dirt poor, poor as we were, live in a tarpaper shack with a tin roof. But it was great out there, away from the city, and her parents accepted me like I was one of their own grandkids. They accepted her and Dad being together, too, and it ain't never made no difference to 'em that I weren't their blood, weren't even Kickapoo.

"I ended up going to live with them out there when Dad and Rita got heavier into the drinking that winter. Grandma and Pop were the best thing to happen to me since I lost my mom. They made me study with the other kids, wouldn't let me slack off. Their people don't believe in white men's schools, so it was the Elders who taught us. Most of them don't know how to read English or Spanish, but Grandma and Pop made me keep up my reading whenever I could get hold of books. They tried to get me a library card in Eagle Pass, but I weren't permanent enough, so Pop would pick up books for me whenever he could so I wouldn't forget my own language. Pop taught me about hunting and tracking and Grandma taught me about their beliefs. The two of them, they gave me family back again, gave me something solid to believe in I hadn't had after my mom died. And it was out on the rez I saw that first horse; it belonged to one of our neighbors."

He lifted his head and moved away from the window so they could see he was smiling, his face warm and calm. He sank down on the couch between JD and Josiah. His entire body looked easeful and okay. Chris let out a quiet breath. Maybe this was going to work out for them all.

"They sound like wonderful people," Josiah said.

"Yeah, they are. Grandma's been in and out of the hospital the past year, but she's been home the last six weeks, so we got our fingers crossed. I call 'em up once a week. When I told them about your call, Pop said my path had taken another turn, but this time the right one that would lead me back to where I should be. He was a hell of a lot more sure of it than I was."

His laughter had a wry note as he looked around at them all, and Chris found himself smiling back. Yeah, it was one freaking weird situation to find yourself in, all right.

Vin chose one of the unfinished bedrooms in the addition for his room. He, Buck, and JD moved a bed and an old dresser into the empty room across the hall from the one Chris had occupied since Sarah's death and found him some sheets. He settled his few belongings from a backpack into the room, seeming to feel at home in the bare, unfinished place. Chris saw him standing at the big uncurtained window that faced east, looking oddly like he belonged.

Vin eased into their lives like water flowing into a barrel. He was the opposite of JD: quiet and steady and thoughtful to JD's mercurial, chattering energy. He seemed much more than four years older than JD. Even his face, fair and handsome as it was, was marked with more lines than JD's boyish one. JD looked younger than his age and Vin older. Chris couldn't help wondering if they'd have looked the same if they'd grown up here, with whatever life on the ranch would have handed them.

Chris sensed a hardness in his second youngest brother that none of his other brothers had. It was like Vin had been shaped in a sterner forge. Chris recognized the steel, knew it for a match for the iron core smelted into himself. He saw the shields inside the friendly, easygoing exterior; he sensed the well of unspoken matters Vin had barely hinted at before sheering away when he shared his capsule history with the family.

Chris looked at his two youngest brothers, two of their lost ones reclaimed--Vin against all odds--and was simultaneously grateful JD had been through an easier crucible and angry Vin had had it rougher than, possibly, any of them would ever know. Vin must have his scars, but he was a good man. Whatever he'd been through, he'd come out of it decent and whole.

On a clear evening two days after Vin's arrival, Chris sat with him on a couple of hay bales outside the barn, their backs comfortably settled against the plank wall. The others were inside the house, cleaning up after dinner. Light and laughter spilled out of the open kitchen window, JD's light voice mingling with Josiah's rumble while Buck's laughter wove through the others' tones like a song's refrain. It sounded like home to Chris; he wasn't sure what it might sound like to a stranger.

Vin seemed relaxed, however, as he leaned back, his eyes roaming across the corral to the foothills beyond as the sun dipped down in fiery colors. Chris watched Vin's face instead of the familiar scene. He watched the fine features as they were limned in golden light that made Vin's long, wavy hair shine like gold wire. He'd never known anyone as peaceful to be with as this new-found brother. Despite the difference in their ages and their entirely different upbringings, he felt an odd understanding shimmer between them.

He watched Vin's face as Vin watched the horizon. Chris thought he'd already be able to map each line and curve, each jut of bone and covering of flesh, that made up this brother as though he'd spent years seeing him, absorbing Vin's shape and Vin's sound and Vin's essence through countless moments spent with him.

"Reckon you got a right to know I ain't got the kind of clear record JD has."

Vin's soft, raspy voice sharpened Chris's eyes and he studied the face with more care. Vin still looked peaceful, content in himself and relaxed, but there was tension in the way he turned his head to meet Chris's eyes, then looked away again.

"Weren't my fault, but I been in some bad trouble. Was charged with murder a year back. Only reason they dropped the charges is because of lack of evidence, but until they find the guy who did it, I'll have that hanging over my head. I was doing pretty good bounty hunting until then, but I got my license took away. Since then, it's been nothing but laboring jobs and a bit of money made taking tourists hunting on the rez. Weren't much of that happening, though, which is why I'd drifted to Arizona."

He turned to look at Chris. Chris studied the calm face that showed Vin was peaceful with what he was and what he'd done, and Chris had not a single doubt this brother of his, although he hadn't seen him since he was four, was as innocent as he claimed. Looking at Vin's clear eyes was like parting the veil of a waterfall and stepping beside him into a sanctuary.

Chris tilted his head and smiled into Vin's clear eyes. Vin smiled back, and nodded, and turned back to watch as the sun sank below the mountains in a final gaudy wash of color.

:::::::

With Vin in residence, work on the ranch became easier by more than merely one extra pair of willing and capable hands. Vin hadn't lived on a ranch before, and hadn't had as much to do with horses as he'd grown up wishing he could, but he learned his way around them as quickly as JD had. Vin also had other skills. What he didn't know about horses, he knew about engines.

"The Kickapoo don't have much," he said by way of explanation to JD's unflagging curiosity. "They take care of what they got, teach their kids to do the same. Everyone helps out when something goes wrong with one of the cars or trucks. Most of 'em work as migrants much of the year; they got to be able to pile the family in a car and get to where they can find a job. They been nomads for centuries; ain't changed their ways much, though a big part of it's that they don't have a choice."

Vin also knew about guns. He didn't carry a handgun these days, but he was appreciative of the hunting rifles hanging on the study wall in a locked cabinet. He got the key from Chris and took them down, cleaning them meticulously as they hadn't been handled since their father's death. Josiah, Chris and Buck were all adept with the rifles and had been taken first target shooting, then hunting from the time they were big enough to handle a rifle responsibly, but none of them had the love of the activity the way their father had. It was reassuring in an odd way to see this trait in Vin. Their dad hadn't had a chance to share any of his love of tramping through the forest on the nearby foothills at dawn with this particular son, but Vin felt the same pleasure in doing that without realizing it came from his father.

"We hunted wild rabbits, spring turkeys, doves, quail--small stuff--for food," he said of his years growing up on the reservation. "After I left, I kept my eye in with indoor target shooting, but it ain't the same as getting out in the country and tramping about, 'specially at dawn, when it's all quiet and there ain't many people around and you can almost hear the air singing."

Absurd the thump his heart made when Chris heard an echo of his father's sentiments unwittingly coming from this almost stranger's mouth, though in a more poetic form. He caught Josiah's eye and nodded at the thoughtful look he got. Josiah answered it with a sudden toothy grin and clapped Vin on the shoulder, launching into a gesticulating description of the trails he'd hiked with Dad on hunting trips. JD listened for a few minutes, then turned away with a shudder, and Chris grinned again. Their father might have had an even harder time interesting his youngest in sport hunting than he had the rest of them. JD might possibly have been even more of a lost cause than Nathan in that regard--though maybe with fewer rants to go along with his reluctance.

Chris wondered with a pang of the old loneliness what Ezra's reaction would have been if their father had survived long enough to introduce him to rifles. These two recovered brothers were so different from each other that it raised thoughts of how Ezra might differ from each of them after his years apart.

Vin was curious about Ezra. He asked questions, which Buck and Josiah mostly answered. JD listened avidly, and pored over the old photographs with Vin even though JD had already been through them all once. It was JD who told Vin about Buddy when Vin paused at a picture of a laughing five-year-old Ezra with his arms full of the puppy. Most of the pictures were of Ezra and Vin together, the two inseparable once Vin started crawling. Ezra and Vin covered in flour after getting into the baking supplies cupboard and managing to pry off the lids of the tin canisters. Multiple pictures of Ezra and Vin on horseback, held in front of Josiah and their father or Chris and Buck, small hands determinedly clutching the reins. Ezra and Vin dressed up as the Cat in the Hat and Tigger respectively--"_typecasting_" scrawled on the back in Buck's hand--for their last Halloween trick-or-treating before the accident.

"Looks like you two did everything together," JD said with a little longing in his voice. He looked with consideration at Vin. "It must've been real hard for you to lose Ezra as well as everyone else. You know, in a kind of special way, almost like you were twins."

Vin frowned at the photos scattered across the table. "I don't know. I can't remember him at all."

"That must be weird." JD fiddled with the photographic evidence of Ezra's and Vin's closeness, fanning them out, arranging them according to apparent ages. "I wonder if he remembers you. Or any of us."

"You been looking for him?" Vin looked around at Josiah and Chris as they relaxed after supper, all of them together except Buck, who was out on a date.

"We tried." Josiah shook his head, looking thoughtful. "We didn't get far, though."

Two days later, after a ride together, Chris and Vin were grooming their horses when Vin offered unexpected hope. "Didn't want to say nothing in front of the others in case it don't pan out, but I reckon I might be able to get a lead on where Ezra might be."

Chris looked at him sharply over his horse's broad back. Vin met his eyes with the ease of a man confident of his own abilities.

"I learned some tricks when I was bounty hunting; was pretty good at it, before I lost my license. It ain't so different from tracking in the bush except you look for signs in records instead of on the ground."

Chris shifted his gaze to the barn's open doors, staring across the familiar landscape to an uncertain vista.

"It's a long shot," Vin said, with the straight shooting that characterized him. "But there's a chance, if you want to take it. Josiah showed me the P.I.'s report. He trailed 'em to Saint Louis. It'd be a matter of picking up the trail from there and seeing where it leads. It might not go nowhere, but I reckon there's at least a chance worth looking into."

It was a non-decision when Vin made his offer to the rest of the family.

"If this doesn't work...." JD looked down at his hands, his dark hair falling across his face and hiding his features.

"If it doesn't work, we won't be any worse off than we are now. But you know, kid, even if it does, there's no guarantee Ezra'll be interested in meeting us."

JD looked up sharply at Buck, frowning. "Why wouldn't he want to? Why wouldn't anybody?"

"We don't know anything about him. He might have a passel of brothers and sisters and not care about six more."

"But he might remember something; remember you guys. I remember stuff from when I was six, and even younger than that. Anyway, Vin and me wanted to meet you and Ezra's our brother; I don't see why he'd be so different. I mean, it'd make sense he'd be like us, right?" JD's big, dark eyes held the stubborn hopefulness of a faithful hound.

"I guess we'll never know until we try." Buck's smile meshed with JD's.

Trying meant pooling their money and handing it over to Vin, all they could spare. He went to Seattle first, where he stayed with Nathan, sleeping on the floor of Nathan's bach apartment. Vin spent days holed up in the university library studying whatever records were available on microfilm, including years of newspapers from major cities. They got periodic updates on the phone, but Vin was noncommittal and Nathan mostly as much in the dark as the rest of them. When he'd done as much as he could in Seattle, Vin took the bus east, first stop Saint Louis. Updates by phone still came regularly; kept short and placed after hours to save money, they were mostly just check-ins to let them know he was all right.

In the meantime, life on the ranch continued, though the air itself hummed with an underpinning of tension that Chris faintly resented, thinking of all the years they'd spent wishing for what they didn't have.

JD's mercurial nature wavered between ebullient confidence Vin would succeed and worry that he wouldn't, though he had a touching faith in Vin's ability that kept his spirits high most of the time. Vin would find Ezra and Ezra would come home and they'd be a complete and happy family. Buck tried to prepare him for disappointment, then gave up, while Josiah nodded at JD's enthusiastic confidence and agreed matters could well fall out exactly as they hoped for the third time in a row.

Chris thought of the string of tragedies in his family's last two decades and found in JD's innocence something too clean to smudge. He kept his own counsel, refusing to dwell on either of the two possibilities: that Vin would succeed or Vin wouldn't. That their last little brother would come home or he wouldn't. That their luck would be good one more time, or it wouldn't.

Vin came home five weeks after he'd left. He looked tired, but his smile was warm as he clasped arms with Chris. Chris felt the sinewy strength in the slender arm and felt grounded. Having Vin back was the good in the situation whatever else happened.

"I found him," Vin said, soon as they all stepped inside the house, with JD already firing questions.

JD fell quiet along with the rest of them, all of them standing in the kitchen staring at Vin. Like a grove of fucking statues, Chris thought with savage bitterness, waiting to hear the magic words that would release them, like they'd been held in a kind of stasis for twenty years. But he felt the same stillness that gripped each of his brothers as he waited to hear the news they'd been seeking for too much of their lives.

"He's using the name Standish now. Ezra Parnell Standish. Went through quite a few other name changes along the way, too, when he was a kid; made it difficult to track 'em. Simpson, Sutton, Summerville, Smith, Saunders--" JD's mouth opened and Vin smiled and shrugged. "Okay, yeah, sorry. I talked to Ezra, told him about us. He always knew he was adopted. Not sure he remembers any of us, though; he might, but he weren't forthcoming.

"Thing is...." Vin paused and shrugged again. "I told him we'd like to meet him, gave him the address. I don't know if he'll come, though. He said he'd 'take it under consideration.' There weren't any point in staying, so I left."

Chris lifted his eyes to stare out the window to the purplish peaks of the Cascades in the distance. Three out of four recovered brothers was pretty damned good luck and more than they'd ever expected. The hollow feeling inside him wasn't nearly as bad now they had Nathan, JD, and Vin back; he could live with it. Even if they'd struck lucky a fourth time, it wouldn't have erased the big hole left in him by losing Sarah and Adam. It would have helped, been one more crack filled up, but he'd lost enough to be grateful for what he had.

And even if they never got to meet him, it eased a painful weight inside him at least to know the last of his brothers was alive.

He turned and looked at his four brothers. Each of their faces--even Vin's already, in the brief time they'd had him back--was more familiar than any others in the world. He sent a tendril of thought west to gather Nathan's face into his mind and willed himself into ease with the situation.

"Did you show him the picture?" JD's dark brows were drawn together in a deep frown.

Vin popped the top off a bottle of Carling Black Label and took a long swallow. He leaned back against the counter and looked at JD with the direct look characteristic of him.

"Yeah, JD, I showed him the picture."

They'd gotten a neighbor to take a photograph of the six of them together when Nathan had come home for a weekend after Vin's arrival.

"Well, didn't he...care?"

Vin's husky voice was gentle. "I don't know. It ain't easy to tell with him. He glanced at it and said something like, 'Very nice,' and that was it."

Supper was a subdued affair. It seemed stupid to care that their last brother might not have an interest in meeting them since the odds of finding him at all had been slight. They'd lived for years with the reality of knowing nothing about him. Chris studied Vin's weary face across the table and thought maybe it would have been better not to try, and wondered at what Vin wasn't telling them.

JD rallied at the end of the meal and wanted to know what Ezra looked like.

"Shorter than me, taller than you." A roguish look brightened Vin's tired features. "Hair's darker than mine, but lighter than yours. It's not as wavy as mine, but it's curlier than yours. I didn't check 'em out real close, but I reckon his feet are daintier than yours, but not as dainty as mine."

Buck snorted a laugh and Josiah chuckled. Chris slanted an amused look at Vin and caught his wink at JD, who rolled his eyes, but lost his look of a hurt fawn.

"So, how come, do you think, he had so many different names?" JD asked hesitantly after supper as they took beers into the living room.

"His mother kept getting divorced and remarried; real hard to follow in the records, especially as she also moved them around a lot. Don't think he spent more'n a few months in one spot while he was a kid." Vin crossed his legs as he stretched out in the chair. "I finally ran him down in Atlantic City. He's almost as hard a paper trail to follow as his mother. I don't think he was too pleased I found him, neither, just on the principle of the thing, not necessarily because it was to do with family he didn't know."

"Atlantic City? Wow, that's a long way from Saint Louis, isn't it?"

The mantel clock ticked loudly in the long silence before Vin finally spoke. "I think he's wandered pretty far, JD."

Chris lay in bed that night staring at the shadow on the wall of the arbutus tree outside his window, unsure whether to be glad or sorry he'd probably never meet the man his last little brother had grown into.

:::::::

Vin settled into life on the ranch. When offered his share of the property, he said they should wait a year to be sure, and he wouldn't budge from that position. His self-assured tranquility, backed with a core of staunch integrity, was a balm to Chris, who felt increasingly drawn to him as though they had a lifetime of shared understanding instead of only a few weeks. He felt oddly as though Vin were his near equal in age rather than fifteen years younger. Not much older than JD in years alone, but in the amount he'd lived, Vin was miles distant from the brother nearest to him in age.

The quiet, unassuming understanding Vin offered Chris without needing matters explained overly much was a newfound haven Chris had never expected to find. In recovering these two youngest of his brothers, he felt as though they'd been given two entirely different gifts: JD's freshness and exuberant innocence complemented by Vin's level-headed experience.

Vin also brought to the family his own brand of business savvy. Used to turning his hand to whatever opportunities arose or could be devised to make money, Vin saw the need for extra income on the ranch and suggested guided trail rides and fishing trips. Hunting trips, too, during the season, but fall hunting season was a few months away. Chris tramped around the uncleared bushland at the foothills on the eastern edge of the ranch with Vin, showing him the lay of it. The land was no use for ranching, being too rugged even if they'd had the money to clear it and turn it to agricultural use. It just sat there, bordering on a large swathe of wilderness licensed to a forest company that hadn't worked it since the early sixties. It would require some work to make trails safe for riders of various skills, but when summer came, it might pay off. Maybe a long shot, but they decided collectively--including a call to Nathan to explain the plans and get his input--to give it a try.

The new venture meant dividing the work force, but he and Buck had worked the ranch underhanded for most of the past two decades. They had more help to draw on now than at any previous time, so it wasn't hard to split up. He and Vin focused on the trails while Buck handled the daily ranch chores with JD's daily and Josiah's occasional help.

Two weeks later, on a day that followed the routine they'd established, he and Vin rode home after the morning spent on the range with Buck and the afternoon finishing up a section of one of the new trails in the bush. Satisfaction at what they'd achieved offset the pull of his tired muscles, but Chris was looking forward to a bath, dinner, and a quiet night watching the Mariners game on TV. Those plans faded as they approached the house and saw a vintage red convertible parked out front. Whoever drove that thing wasn't from around here, that was for sure. He turned to Vin and found him frowning intently at the car.

"He came." Vin's voice was a quiet breath of sound.

The hair on the back of his neck lifted as Chris glanced back at the car, then at Vin. "Who?"

The front door of the house opened. Josiah came out and approached them with a stranger by his side. Chris dismounted, watching them, but aware in the corner of his eye of Vin's intent watchfulness as he kept his own eyes on the pair. Chris's belly churned.

"You already know Vin." Josiah smiled as he and the man halted beside them. Josiah indicated Chris. "This is--"

"Chris, is it not?" The man's thick, drawling accent was foreign as the car. He held out his hand. "A pleasure, sir."

Chris stared into large eyes of an unusual clear green. The eyes were set in a smooth-featured face and met his gaze candidly. Chris wiped his hand on his jeans and took the proffered hand. He appreciated the firm grip as they shook, but he didn't let go immediately.

"And you are?"

A smile branded dimples into the man's cheeks. Fucking hell. Green eyes, dimples, and a hint of curl in the short, dark brown hair. Any slight doubt he'd harbored vanished.

"Ezra. You made it." He let go of Ezra's hand and let the tentative warmth spreading inside his gut blossom into a full-blown grin, a mingling of pleasure and relief, with a dash of exultation. The last of them was finally home!

"I could hardly keep away after Vin's intriguing tales of long-lost family and an arduous, obstacle-strewn quest to find me."

Ezra's disarming smile--revealing a gold tooth that flashed in the sunlight--almost masked a hint of irony in his voice. Chris's smile faded as he studied the open face with its sincere expression and wondered if he'd misheard.

Ezra turned to Vin and held out his hand. "It's very good to see you again." His voice was as warm as his smile as Vin took his hand. "I hope you'll forgive my appalling ill manners at our first meeting. You took me by surprise. I regretted my churlishness the moment we parted."

Vin's frown had transmuted into a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and spread to cheer his entire face. Chris studied the two of them as they shook hands: the trust'em twins back together again, against all odds, or even hope. It was disorienting to see them as adults and try to transpose their grown-up selves onto the little ones he remembered. The first odd shift in perception was seeing Vin was taller than Ezra. Two years older as a toddler and youngster had made Ezra always bigger than Vin. Chris supposed it was no different from having been taller than Buck until Buck suddenly shot up over him when he reached age thirteen and Chris had to accustom himself to looking up to his little brother. And then it happened again when Nathan came home, for all three of them that time.

They knew at last that none of the youngest three would top any of the rest of them, with Vin being the tallest of the trio. Vin had the slender, lanky build Chris and Buck shared; Ezra was broad-shouldered and more solidly muscled.

Ezra looked at him consideringly with his head tilted to the side and Chris realized he was staring, trying to slot this adult Ezra into his place in the family. He gave a slow smile and led the way back to the house, trying to get used to the unaccustomed feeling of completion.

:::::::

For all his differences from the child they remembered, Ezra Parnell Standish evoked the ghost of Ezra McLellan Larabee in a variety of small ways. He was talkative and charming, and he tended to gesture expansively according to his mood as he spoke: short and jerky if he were agitated, languorous if he were relaxed, but always the fine-boned hands seemed to be on the move. He radiated charm in a far more polished way than he had as a child, but the kernels of his disarming traits had been part of him since he first discovered he could get hugs, kisses, and--more often than not, depending on whom he targeted--whatever he'd set his eye on to have or do if he turned up his charm-o-meter. He was more subtle about it now, but still oddly endearing, mostly because he was clearly aware of his own manipulativeness and simply smiled another charming smile when someone called him on it.

The most disturbing thing about him was his sophistication. Vin's down-to-earth scruffiness and JD's brash enthusiasm were far more familiar to Chris than Ezra's polished manners. Ezra looked as though he'd be at home on a cruise ship or at a resort in Acapulco, places Chris couldn't see any of the rest of them fitting into without a lot of adjustment, even well-traveled Josiah. Ezra wore jeans on his second day at the ranch, to explore the property and be introduced to the horses, but they weren't GWG's and Chris wondered just what he'd think of the price tag they'd probably had.

Ezra didn't flaunt anything, however. Buck and Josiah both drooled over the car. Ezra was delighted to show it off, but it was quickly apparent he had the vintage car for love rather than its flashy appeal--or its value, which, according to Buck, was considerable since it was in beautiful condition from its white soft top to its whitewall tires and its white leather interior between.

"It costs a fortune to maintain and to run," Ezra said, with a rueful but fond laugh, "but I couldn't imagine ever being without it."

He gave the key to Josiah, got into the backseat with JD while Buck rode shotgun, and they disappeared like a gleaming cherry-red dart in a cloud of dust and didn't return for three hours. Chris and Vin shook their heads in shared bemusement at this quirk in their brothers and did the chores. When the car returned, Buck was driving. He left the vehicle with visible reluctance.

"She rides like a dream. Like sailing on a cloud." Buck spoke to Chris and Vin, but his eyes stroked over the convertible like he was pulling a lingerie strap off a creamy-skinned shoulder. "And what a babe-magnet," he added, reverently. "You should've seen 'em, Chris, when I drove down main street, all flocking out to see her!"

JD rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and you wanted us to duck down so only you could be seen! Anyway, isn't that what you said about Ezra and Vin when they were little? The best babe-magnets a guy could ever want?"

Vin spluttered a mouthful of pop and fell into a coughing fit, gasping after breath as he fended off JD, who enthusiastically thumped his back. Ezra looked startled at JD's words, then laughed. His expressive eyes danced in a way that made him look more like their long-lost little brother than he had so far, and caught Chris's gaze. Studying Ezra with his head cocked, Chris decided it was the mischief that made Ezra suddenly look like theirs.

Buck still couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the new love of his life. "Well, now, it is a surefire fact you can't go far wrong if you ride around with a pair of disgustingly cute rug-rats perched up on the saddle with you. But a beauty like this? She gets you all the advantages without any of the nuisance! She's just...perfect." He breathed the final word with passion.

Josiah rumbled a laugh. They all turned to go to the house, though Buck kept looking over his shoulder at the gleaming beauty.

"Gee," JD said, "I guess I'm glad I must've been too young for you to cart around like that!"

"Oh, I had my eye on you, boy. Anyway, the twins loved it. Didn't you, fellows?"

Ezra's smile suddenly looked wooden.

Vin shrugged. "Can't remember nothing about it."

"Well, you must remember, right, Ezra?"

A brief silence followed as they went up the stairs to the porch. Then Ezra forced a smile and mimicked Vin's shrug. "Unfortunately, I also have no memories of my time here."

They all looked at him, but he gave a brief smile and moved into the house. At six years old, they'd thought for sure he'd have at least some memory of them. Even Vin remembered the prism.

"But you don't remember anything at all?" JD'd at least had the patience to wait until they'd finished supper in an easy companionship before returning to the subject. Denied of any chance of memories of his past himself, he basked in the tales his brothers told.

"I'm afraid not." Ezra ran his fingertip around the edge of the mug he held, looking down at it. "My first clear memory is of my mother leading me out of--" he paused, frowning "--orphanage, I suppose it might be called. It was a large, busy, official kind of building, not a foster home. That's the sum of my memories and Mother doesn't encourage what she terms profitless dwelling on the past." He looked up at JD and smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes.

JD latched onto the interesting part: "But your mom's alive? That's great! You're the only one of us with a mom who's still alive." He spoke with the sadness of a youth who was still mourning his own mother.

Chris quelled a tiny surge of irritation, reminding himself again that to his youngest brothers, the mothers and fathers they knew and spoke about and loved _were_ their parents, as real as life to them despite the lack of blood ties.

Ezra's smile gentled as he looked at JD's eagerness, and his voice was warm. "Indeed, she's very much alive. Quite an indomitable woman, in fact." The smile that tugged harder at the corners of his mouth held something private and secret that caught Chris's attention.

"And your dad?"

All their eyes were watching Ezra as JD fired his questions. Chris was prepared to put a stop to it if seemed like Ezra needed rescuing, but Ezra remained composed. He looked calmly able to handle anything JD might throw at him.

"I really don't know if he is or not." JD frowned, and Ezra laughed and flipped his hand in the air. "I suppose it would be more accurate to say I never really had a father. The man my mother married when she decided she wanted to adopt a child, and knew she'd have no chance to do so if she weren't married, was dispensed with soon after he'd served his purpose, which is to say, shortly after the adoption was finalized. He had no interest in me, and once Mother dumped him, he disappeared from our lives. Mother acquires and dispenses with husbands as the mood takes her; she went through several during my childhood. One in particular did have actual interest in me, and I thought I might learn to like him, but he was, unfortunately, around for too short a time to actually be identified in my mind with a father. Mother loses interest rather rapidly."

Ezra's voice was light; yet, under the flippancy, there was a coolness that made Chris's back prickle. Judging from the way even JD fell silent, the others felt the same abrupt distance yawning between them and Ezra. Then Ezra looked up and laughed again and told an amusing tale about his mother that made her sound fascinating and beguiling and conniving all at once. Ezra's drawling, expressive voice wove a spell around them, drawing them into the world he painted, and the room soon rang with laughter.

Chris forgot about the momentary awkwardness until he was lying in bed much later. He stared up at the ceiling, silvered by the pale moonlight that came in the uncurtained window, and thought over the incident and the way Ezra had diverted attention with skilful ease. This brother was more of an enigma than any of the others. Certainly more of a hidden slate than JD, who was as open and generous with his thoughts and feelings as he was with his eagerness to help or support his brothers, both physically and emotionally. But Ezra was also proving more difficult to get to know than Vin despite Ezra's seeming readiness to talk in contrast to Vin's quietness. Chris wondered why it had taken him this long to realize it was word-sparing Vin who didn't shy from answering questions about his life and family and talkative Ezra who used language to create smokescreens.

He wondered what lay behind the screen Ezra was erecting in their faces. Most of all, though, he wondered uneasily what had happened over the past twenty years to turn the trusting little chatterbox they'd known into this secretive word-artist.

:::::::

The mystery at the heart of Ezra Standish seemed less apparent in the light of a new day. Ezra remained wholly warm and friendly. He was interested in the ranch and was attentive as JD showed him around. He asked intelligent questions about its management and absorbed the history of its operation with ease, grasping with immediate understanding the nature of the financial pressure they'd long faced, and still did, as well as their practical hopes for the future. Buck was particularly delighted to discover Ezra was an accomplished horseman. Nothing fancy, but he had a solid seat and handled animals in various stages of training with disciplined finesse.

"My mother formed...liaisons, shall we say, with men of a startling array of different resources while I was growing up," was the cryptic way he explained how he acquired his skill. It was said with one of his charming, rueful smiles that seemed to invite them to share the joke while nevertheless holding them at arm's length.

Josiah found common ground with Ezra's well-read and well-traveled background, the closest match in the family to Josiah's own wide-ranging interests. While Nathan had spent as much of his life focused on studying as Josiah, Nathan's interest was, by necessity of time, concentrated on medical and related subjects. In Ezra, at last, Josiah found a family member who could converse--and argue--with him on topics as diverse as eighteenth-century elegiac poetry and human sacrifice in the modern-day worship of Kali. The rest of them looked on with bemusement, and Buck made loud protests about Ezra's encouraging Josiah, but it was reassuring on a gut level to watch both Ezra and Vin forming individualized bonds with each of them.

Nathan, deeply sunk into exams, papers, and practical work, as well as the part-time work he did to supplement his scholarship, wasn't able to get home and missed out forming his own unique relationship with his newest-found brother. There'd be time, though, Chris dared to think, with a rare slice of optimism, on a sunny morning five days after Ezra's arrival as he sipped coffee and watched Ezra and Buck giving direction and encouragement to JD as he worked on his riding.

The Larabee clan, against all reasonable odds, was reunited at last. To the part of his mind that didn't believe in good outcomes, it was freaking fucking unbelievable. At the same time, however, the thread of optimism in him Sarah's presence alone had made flare into revived life, tentatively allowed him to trust this startling overturn of his expectations. Good sometimes did come to those who waited.

And, shit, they'd damned well paid their dues through enough years to deserve this outcome!

Along with the attraction of exploring their evolving family, they had the day-to-day work to attend to, and did. Chris flung the last of his coffee onto the ground and strode into the house to dispose of the mug and get on with the day. He and Vin had work to finish on a section of fence along the road to town, which attracted more damage than the fences on the more remote parts of the property, while Josiah was taking Ezra to survey the new trails and Buck and JD did various tasks closer to home.

They gathered, as usual, for supper, creating a new family tradition from an old one in their distant, shared past. Ezra came back from his survey with Josiah of the hinder part of the ranch apparently energized. He talked animatedly and engagingly, drawing even Vin into the lively discussion Ezra initiated of the proposed plans to attract tourist dollars. He wanted to know each detail, and they obliged, leading to the tabling of new ideas, some outlandish, good only for a hearty laugh; others requiring too much money at this point, but good to keep in mind for the future; and a few they were currently considering. Once he'd got them all talking, Ezra fell silent, his eyes roaming over their faces, his face alert with intelligent consideration.

Chris watched his third youngest brother as Ezra watched the others. Ezra always had enjoyed being the center of attention. "Born without shame or shyness," he could remember Josiah saying one day as they stopped currying horses in the corral to watch Buck chase down a happily squealing, naked Ezra racing across the front lawn while his mother, heavily pregnant with JD, watched from the porch. The adult Ezra had behaved with nothing but mannerly decorum, but something about the roguish set of his mouth made Chris suspect there were still few things Ezra would balk at doing for the sake of modesty alone.

Ezra suddenly looked at him. Chris met his eyes, smiling, ready to meet and answer the expansive humor Ezra was fanning for them. Disconcerted at seeing the laughter slip away from Ezra's face, leaving it a remote mask, he lost his own smile; cold prickled his arms as though he were abruptly teetering on the edge of a cliff. In an instant, the mask was gone as Ezra turned his eyes from Chris and laughed again, warm and irresistible. He threaded his distinctive drawl back into the conversation with a new anecdote, bringing attention again to himself and spreading the laughter like woven cords between his brothers. Ezra smiled directly at Chris, inviting him back into the web of bonhomie he spun between them with uncanny--unsettling--ease, as though that moment of void had never existed. As Ezra's spell worked its magic, Chris relegated the jarring moment to a perverse and untrue fancy.

Ezra showed an interest in the ranch's finances over the following days. Josiah spent an hour with him looking at the books, explaining the complicated collection of mortgages and second mortgages and loans and bank drafts going back to their father's initial purchase of the land over forty years ago, when land was cheap during the Depression, but money to pay for it was even scarcer than today. Ezra turned out to have a flare for finances none of the rest of them came near sharing; figures seemed to flow as easily in Ezra's mind as biology and chemistry did in Nathan's.

He emerged from his study of the finances with a suggestion they pay off the loan with the highest interest rate immediately, even though it would make them strapped for cash in the short term, while renegotiating and amalgamating a pair of smaller loans, again with the long view in mind. The suggestions were good; nothing earthshaking that would get them free title significantly sooner, but it would ease matters down the road, particularly if they were able to make a go of the trail rides and hunting.

"Have you given much thought to a name?"

Lounging in the living room after a rough day of handling the stock on a stormy day, the five of them looked at Ezra, who somehow managed to look fresh and starched despite having done his share of battling wind and rain. Of course, he'd also managed to nab the shower first and used most of the hot water.

The idea of a name hadn't occurred to any of them. It was enough to deal with preparing the land, getting the licenses--Ezra was helping with that part; he seemed to have an uncanny ability to wrap obdurate officials around his slim, manicured fingers--and figuring out how to get everything done ready for tourist season.

"Well, what's the matter with Larabee Ranch Trail Rides?" JD was the first to venture a response.

Ezra screwed up his face. "Surely we could come up with something more catchy, don't you think? Something, perhaps, that's more likely to stick in people's minds so they won't have to search out a business card before recalling it?"

"Business cards?" Buck popped open an eye, then rolled it. He took a drink from his beer and belched softly.

"Business cards, letterheads, advertisements in local and Seattle newspapers, the Yellow Pages." Ezra wore a faraway look. "A new sign over the entrance to the ranch itself, at the turn-off on the main road, would also not go amiss--one professionally painted, not leftover paint daubed on old boards in somebody's spare time. And on them all, a name, something catchy, unusual...new. New even to the neighbors, to give them the sense of a significant change, something worth checking out and talking about. Word of mouth, gentlemen, as valuable as paper advertising."

Buck snorted. "We're just simple folk, Ezra. We ain't into all that kind of shit."

"If you're going to try to make a success of this venture, you're going to have to do more than rely on being 'simple folk.' Folksiness is all well and good once you've attracted those with money to the ranch; it will undoubtedly appeal immensely to the type of clientele you'll probably target. But it won't get them here in the first place."

He fell silent, but his eyes touched on each of them in turn. He had a certain pushiness about him--which was damned familiar from the little one he'd been. He'd always liked to get his way, if at all possible, even more determined about it than most kids; sometimes it seemed more about the challenge of doing it than actually achieving whatever he'd set his eye on. But the adult Ezra didn't push too hard; he just suggested "mighty strong," as Vin put it, then left it up to the rest of them to decide. Chris wondered idly if that holding back would diminish as Ezra became more comfortable in the family again, or if he'd learned restraint during his years away.

The thing was, his ideas were all sound. The rest of them hadn't given any thought to getting word out about the new venture. They were focused on the doing of it; Ezra saw all the ancillary matters they'd missed.

"So, what do you suggest?" Josiah broke the thoughtful silence and earned a wide beam from Ezra.

With a flourish of his hand, like a magician waving a wand over a hat, and in a suitably sonorous voice, Ezra said, "The Seven Sons."

After a silence, JD spoke tentatively. "Seven suns? Like in the sky?"

Buck grinned. "Oh, yeah, Ezra, I can see how catchy that is. A sign of seven blazing suns over the entrance to the ranch; that'd probably blind people, not attract 'em. Be pretty crowded on the business card, too, don't you think?"

Vin snorted a laugh and Josiah chuckled.

"Good Lord, I've fallen among cretins. Sons as in brothers, gentlemen. Seven Larabee Sons--but leave out the Larabee since we're not all actually Larabees, at least not for any practical purpose." Ezra leaned forward; his eyes were alight, his hands were on the move, and his voice was seductive with a salesman's beguilement. "Seven has a mystical quality to it, a special magic in itself, that we all respond to on a deep-rooted, unconscious, cultural basis. And the name 'Seven Sons' has a certain enigmatic quality about it, too. People will want to know what it refers to, what it _means_. It could be a local name for a geographical feature, perhaps a group of hills. When they learn it refers to the seven men who run the ranch, the information will intrigue them. Even in this day of baby boomers, seven sons in a family isn't common. You, JD--" he turned and speared JD with a stabbing finger in the air that froze the kid with his glass of milk halfway to his mouth, his eyes wide as a fox's caught in the glare of headlights "--_are_ the seventh son. Seventh sons, rare and valued, have been the object of special attention throughout history. They were often called Septimus in the family's boasting celebration of the rare achievement of having achieved the distinction of producing seven male heirs."

Josiah was nodding his head, as much under the glamour of Ezra's spell-weaving as the others. Jesus, Chris even felt himself drawn in, and grinned as he thought of how Ezra's selling ability turned on the unwary public might just give this venture the kick in the balls it needed to get off and running.

"Sounds good to me," he said.

Ezra turned and smiled at him with a warmth Chris felt from across the room like a hand on his cheek.

Ezra was fine company, as appealing in his chattiness as Vin was in his peaceful silences and JD in his bouncy enthusiasm. As fine company as Josiah with his eclectic knowledge, Buck with his irreverent glory, and Nathan with his smarts and encompassing warmth. Chris found himself occasionally skating near sentimental claptrap in thinking about his restored family, but the tentative belief in them all being granted another chance made it seem less embarrassingly stupid than he figured it should.

He spent a lot of time with Vin, the two of them forming an easy partnership that became as exclusive, in its way, as the bond that had formed virtually immediately between Buck and JD and kept deepening the more time they spent together. It took him by surprise, discovering a special affinity with Vin. Vin and Ezra had always had distinctively different personalities as little ones--Ezra outgoing and sociable and chatty, Vin shy and quiet; Ezra loving words and books while Vin liked building and doing things--but he'd been equally close to both of them. They were his baby brothers: nuisances like all kid brothers half the time, fun little playmates the rest of the time, definitely useful babe-magnets (because, yeah, he and Buck had discovered and happily exploited the inexplicable effect two unbearably cute little brats had on girls).

Most of all, they'd been equally his to protect and have and hold and get cross at and hug and Band-Aid scrapes and mop up tears and tickle into squealing laughter.

He wondered if he and Vin would have felt this affinity if they'd all grown up together. He couldn't help wondering, over and over, how different each of his three youngest brothers might have been if they'd grown up at home instead of among what he thought of as strangers, while they thought of them as their families.

Whatever the case, they had them back now, they were what they'd grown up to be, however they'd achieved the particular traits they had, and they were just fucking great.

Ezra sought him out one morning when Vin was working on the trails with Buck and JD while Josiah was in town. Ezra wasn't much of one for pitching in with the manual labor, but he was both willing and very able to help in schooling the animals, work over the accounts, and deal with the peripheral matters none of the rest of them endured with any patience, such as beating down the prices for advertising and printing. They weren't ready to go ahead quite yet, but close enough that Ezra figured they should get the stationery ready and compose the ads.

Ezra sat on a hay bale while Chris mucked out stalls and regaled him with the matters he'd taken care of in those regards. Chris half-listened, finding the melodic voice with its exotic accent a lulling accompaniment to his work. He'd paid close attention to Ezra while showing him the accounts and listening to his suggestions and had learned enough about him to trust his judgment. He paused to chuckle at a few of Ezra's caustic commentaries on some of the individuals he'd dealt with, but otherwise just relaxed and let the words flow over him, enjoying the growing familiarity of the adult Ezra's voice and manner the way he had the child Ezra when he'd come and chattered at him.

When he paused to mop his brow, Ezra said, "Chris, I'll need a check to send as a deposit on the stationery. If you could write that out when you have time, we can get that matter finalized."

Chris shrugged and stuffed his bandanna back into his pocket. "Be easier for you to do the checks yourself. I'll either go into the bank tomorrow and get you signing privileges on the accounts or see if Josiah has time to do it."

Ezra looked startled. "You're giving me access to the ranch's bank accounts?"

He grinned. "It's your ranch, too, Ezra: lock, stock, bills, mortgages, and all. Same offer as we made to JD and Vin: equal ownership with the rest of us, for good or worse."

"And they both accepted?"

"JD did; we got the papers drawn up and signed before we even found Vin. Vin wants us to wait; figures we ought to give it a few months to be sure about him." He laughed; as though there could be any doubt of Vin, whose intentions were transparent to anyone who spent a little time with him. "We're sure about him, but the time'll pass soon enough. I don't think Vin'll be going anywhere." He let his eyes wander out the door across the corral to the mountains beyond. "He's come home. Him and JD both." He looked back at Ezra, who was staring at him. "Like you."

He made a fist and lightly punched against Ezra's smooth jaw. Ezra turned his head, rolling with the fake punch, then looked back up at him. Ezra was smiling, but there was a shadow of reserve in his face, a distance neither Vin nor JD had ever put between them.

"You really don't know anything about me." Ezra's voice was light, but his shoulders were stiff and straight. "It would be handing over part of everything you own to a stranger."

Chris lifted a foot to rest on the bale next to Ezra and leaned down. He could smell a faint spicy tang he'd already come to associate with Ezra; he wasn't sure if it was aftershave or cologne, but it now said Ezra in his lizard brain whenever he scented it. He looked at the smooth, handsome features that already seemed as familiar as though there hadn't been twenty years of life missing in their joint experiences. He looked at the way Ezra's dark hair caught the light and shone faintly auburn; Sarah's hair had had a similar sheen.

He shook away the thought and focused on his brother's unusual eyes. While Vin's eyes were his mother's crystal blue, Ezra had throwback eyes. Chris could remember his father saying, with satisfied wonder in his voice, when Ezra was a toddler and his little face was dominated by his large, clear green eyes, that his grandmother had had eyes just like that. They skipped two generations to show up in Ezra, and he was the only one of their father's seven sons to inherit those eyes. Chris never met his great-grandmother, who died before Josiah was born, but he'd never forgotten his father's words, repeated whenever a stranger commented on Ezra's pretty eyes.

Chris looked into those eyes now and it was like feeling the shared elements in their blood calling to each other. He put all the warmth of that feeling of connection into his voice. "You're not a stranger."

Ezra met his gaze, their faces only inches apart. After a long, stretched moment, Ezra blinked and looked away, his lashes falling to shade his eyes. Chris dropped his boot to the ground and straightened. He looked out across the land again; their land, the family's.

"No pressure, Ezra. But this is the Larabee ranch, and you're a Larabee. The offer will always stand: one-seventh of this place is yours. We determined on that way back when they first took you away from us: swore that when we got you all back, you'd be part of this place the way you were each meant to be."

In the silence that followed, Chris turned back into the barn. He grinned to himself when Ezra was behind him and couldn't see. "So, why don't you grab a shovel and help me shift the rest of this manure?"

The grin blossomed as he heard Ezra hastily stand up. "Uh, well, look at the time! I really must drive into town and put some gas into the car. It's a guzzler--" his voice faded as he moved away "--completely uneconomical and very inconvenient. Has me enslaved to its needs. I'll be back in time for dinner!"

The last sentence was called back over his shoulder as he strode to the house. Chris laughed outright. Hell, there just wasn't any feeling in the world quite like knowing your family well enough to be able to jerk their strings and know exactly which way they'd jump.

In the balm of renewed contentment, he forgot for entire hours at a time that sense of a malevolent universe ruling their lives he'd first become convinced of twenty years ago and then all over again when he lost Sarah and his son. Third time lucky....

And only a freaking idiot would forget that "lucky" could become "unlucky" at the whim of chancy fate.

:::::::

The following Tuesday dawned like any other day, giving no warning of the hell it had in store for them. Funny how life happens like that: a day starts off seeming to be completely ordinary, then transmutes in the blink of an eye into an ugly mockery of normality. The Friday his parents died had seemed, at its dawning, exactly like any other morning; so did the Sunday that would bring him the news of Sarah's and Adam's deaths.

On Tuesday, he got up with the sun as usual, had his coffee in the kitchen with Vin, and went out with him to do the early morning chores. He noticed Ezra's convertible was gone and raised his eyebrows at Vin as they walked to the barn, tilting his head toward the empty spot on the driveway. Vin grinned and waggled his eyebrows back. Ezra had been gone most of the previous day. He'd come home with stationery he'd picked up from the printers with the ranch's new name on it--which he'd registered legally with the county--and stashed it in the office for when they needed it. He'd paid some bills and insisted Chris and Josiah look over the accounts with him to see what he'd done. He'd previously suggested moving some of their cash into short-term, high-interest bonds; they'd agreed, after discussing it, and he wanted them to see the arrangements he'd made.

"We trust you, brother," Josiah had said, amused at Ezra's earnestness as he meticulously led them through each of the transactions he'd made.

Ezra had smiled, but it was wooden and brief. "I'm glad of that, Josiah." He'd cleared his voice and said, more forcefully, "I'll only be another few minutes; you really should be aware of what I've done."

So they'd waited as he spoke, standing on either side of him beside their father's big desk, giving him their attention because he seemed to need it. Josiah bent over the books with Ezra, their grizzled and dark heads so close they occasionally touched; Chris stood upright, watching them and listening with half an ear. Mostly, though, he listened to Ezra's voice, to the dips and peaks of it, pulling the drawling foreignness that was no longer foreign over himself like a blanket. Ezra's distinctive tones were now an integral part of the conglomerate of voices that defined "family" in Chris's mind.

When Ezra was satisfied they understood everything he'd done that day, with accounts and printing and bills, he'd told them he was going out for the night. It was almost supper time, but he said he'd made plans. Buck loudly applauded the first sign one of his baby brothers actually had some ability to attract the opposite sex. The others laughed as Ezra reddened and scowled, then gave a sly grin and made a tart and pointed comment back at Buck that directed their even heartier laughter back at him. Buck had good-naturedly cuffed him and Ezra escaped with a wave, smoothing down the hair Buck had mussed.

"Buck'll be pleased," Vin said, as they reached the barn and went to the first stalls. "Reckon he didn't think Ezra would've scored that good so soon."

They chuckled together, then got on with the day. It was busy, as all their days were, the five of them separating to deal with different jobs. They gathered, as they did most nights, in the large kitchen as they drank beer, milk, or pop, rewound, and exchanged news about their days as they prepared supper. Josiah stirred a large pot of chili and JD spread garlic butter on French bread and put the foil-wrapped loaf in the oven to heat. The smells of the cooking food made Chris's appetite sharp and he snitched a piece of cheese from Buck, ducking away from Buck's attempted retribution.

Ezra walked in at last just as they were finishing eating supper.

"Well, it's about time she kicked you out, Romeo." Buck managed an expression as leering as his voice.

Chris took a swallow of beer, studying Ezra for signs of debauchery, but the damned guy looked as neat and groomed as he usually did. Chris tried to imagine a woman running her fingers through the short, thick hair, but if it had happened, her touch had been smoothed out of existence.

"You missed supper." Josiah showed off his row of fence-post teeth. "But we saved you a bowl of chili."

"Ah, heck, Josiah, you're going to chase him away! And I want to hear how his date went, first." JD's attempted leer was a puppy-dog version that made Vin choke with laughter.

Ezra didn't smile. He looked at each of them soberly in turn. A chill touched the back of Chris's neck when Ezra's eyes met his for a moment before Ezra blinked his eyes away.

"Something the matter, Ezra?" Buck was all seriousness now, as always when one of his family was in need.

Need rolled off Ezra in waves.

"Gentlemen. I--" Ezra looked down; the light cast elongated shadows of his lashes on his cheeks. He took a breath and raised his eyes in a level look once more. "I've come to take my leave. There's really no easy way to do this, so I'll just take my things and go."

"Leave?" The shocked tone in JD's voice expressed it for all of them.

"Yes. I should have left days ago." He shrugged, then smiled. It was as facilely charming as his usual smile, except it didn't warm his features or reach his eyes. "Or, to be more accurate, I suppose I should never have come at all. But having come, and seen, I should have left much sooner."

"You want to explain that?"

Chris's grating voice hung in the air for a long moment, then JD said, in a tentative, gentle tone, "Is it something to do with your mom? She's okay, isn't she?"

JD's immediately thinking of Ezra's mother faintly shamed Chris. The adoptive families who represented reality to his youngest brothers were as amorphous as mist to him. They never entered his mind except when directly referenced.

Ezra's voice was quiet. "My mother is fine, but thank you for asking, JD." He licked his lips, then half-laughed, shaking his head and glancing at the floor before looking up at them again with a wry look. "I realize you deserve an explanation. I'll make it easy on all of us and keep it brief: I came here under false pretenses. I'm not your brother. I'm sorry to say your real brother died soon after he was adopted."

Chris's stomach dropped sickeningly in concert with a roaring in his ears, then sound rushed back with his brothers' sharp, shocked voices demanding explanations.

"Let's all go sit down." Josiah's firm deep voice cut through the babble.

Ezra looked at the door as though contemplating flight, then squared his shoulders and followed Josiah into the living room. Buck and JD followed. Chris put his beer bottle down on the kitchen table and ran a hand through his hair. Bloody fucking Christ. Vin paused beside him, thumbs hooked through the belt loops on his Levi's, head tilted as he considered the doorway to the living room.

"Fuck," Vin said in his quiet rasp.

"Yeah." Ignoring the icy unease that was making his skin crawl, Chris followed Vin into the living room. Vin went to lean against the wall next to the fireplace. Chris dropped into a chair, forced himself to lean back, and pinned his eyes on Ezra, who regarded him with a steady look. Ezra was seated in the old leather recliner they still called Dad's chair.

"Well?"

Ezra looked away from him, glanced at the others all staring at him. He lifted his hands in a shrugging gesture. "As I said, I am not your brother. We're not related in any way. An unpredictable set of circumstances presented me with this peculiar situation that I saw as a possible opportunity to benefit." He paused to look around the circle at them again. "I came only to see if I could con you out of some money."

"You bastard." Buck stood up from where he'd been sitting against the arm of the couch and advanced on Ezra, who didn't move, but tensed as he looked up at him. "You came here to steal from us?" He was looming over the chair.

"Buck."

"What?" Buck didn't take his eyes from Ezra.

"Just back off, will you." Chris stabbed a finger at Ezra, drawing Ezra's eyes away from the staring match with Buck. "And you, too. Back the fuck up. Before we go into why you came here, I want to know _how_ you got here. You can start with telling us what you meant when you said our brother is dead."

Buck spun away, going to stand next to Vin, a rigid figure beside Vin's deceptively casual lean. They were both to Ezra's right and behind him; they could watch him, but he had to turn his head if he wanted to see them. Chris noted with a sickening snap of feeling like a breaking bone that Ezra looked composed and remote, without a shred of uneasiness. He didn't bother even glancing behind himself at Buck and Vin.

"My mother wanted a child, but she didn't wish to go through the rather arduous and time-consuming business of bearing one herself and caring for it through infancy until it reached an age when it would be more...palatable to her. She decided that adopting a child would be much the best course. Having made up her mind, she proceeded to act with the meticulous planning she brings to everything she does, which included finding a man to marry who would enable her to adopt. To cut the story short, your brother caught her eye when she was investigating orphanages. He met her criteria in being of an age where he didn't need a great deal of care, and in having the looks and intelligence she desired for her child. She adopted him. When the adoption was finalized, she moved in rapid succession to first Saint Louis, then Atlanta."

He broke off and looked down for the first time. The silence in the room was heavy as a shroud. When Ezra lifted his head, he looked at JD, who looked back at him with an aghast expression that was a mix of bewilderment and hurt. After a moment, Ezra looked away, sighing, and rubbed the palm of his hand surreptitiously against his leg. For the first time, Chris caught a hint that Ezra might not be quite as relaxed as he appeared.

Chris kept his eyes trained on Ezra. "The P. I. and Vin both traced her and Ezra to Saint Louis, so how about you tell us something we don't already fucking know."

Ezra smiled tightly at him. "Certainly. Your brother was sent to stay with relatives of my mother's in Savannah--" he glanced at JD "--Georgia. He died shortly after his arrival, of a burst appendix. As the story was told me, he was in school when it happened, but it occurred so quickly they were unable to get him to the hospital in time. He died while being operated on."

"No," JD whispered.

Chris glanced sharply at JD long enough to see him putting a hand over his mouth and Josiah gripping his shoulder, then switched his gaze back to Ezra just as Vin spoke.

"I didn't find no record of a death certificate."

Ezra jumped a little as Vin's growling voice grated directly behind him. Damned straight the bastard wasn't as easeful as he was making out, but he was way too good at masking what he was thinking and feeling both. Quite a fucking little performer all around. By the time Ezra turned to look at Vin and answered, his face and voice were as unruffled as a sleeping babe's.

"My mother had legally changed her name by that time. She has a...habit of doing so."

"What name did he die under?" Buck's voice was as harsh and controlled as Vin's.

Ezra hesitated, then said, "Smith. Ezra Parnell Smith."

Buck snorted. "You trying to tell us someone actually changes their name to 'Smith'?"

"It's a family name." Ezra's tone was clipped, uninviting of further inquiry. After a moment rife with tension, Ezra cleared his throat and looked as though he were ready to just get up and walk out.

"How'd you end up with our brother's name?" Vin's voice was even, but hard as flint.

Ezra glanced down, his lashes shielding whatever emotion--if any--his eyes might have shown. When he looked up, his face and eyes were bland again; he didn't turn to look at Vin as he spoke, but stared at an empty spot across the room. "My mother still desired to have a child and found me in Atlanta via some private arrangement or other. She was pleased to find a child who was about the same age and who looked a little like the one she'd so briefly had. Since she'd had everything readied in the name Ezra Parnell, she saw no reason to alter it. Even the tags in the clothes she'd procured would have had to be changed. So, instead, she changed my name to Ezra Parnell."

Chris stared at the pale, composed face, feeling an unwelcome wrench of appalled horror. To force a six-year-old literally into the shoes of a dead child took a cold unfeelingness he couldn't comprehend. To take a six-year-old who presumably had recently lost his family and home and everything familiar and not allow him to keep even his name....

"That's awful," JD stuttered, staring huge-eyed at Ezra.

Ezra didn't look at him. "Children rapidly adapt to change." His voice was cool as creek water.

Chris didn't want to feel sorry--didn't want to feel even a sliver of sorrow--for this bastard who had come here to exploit their feelings and their trust, to con them, cheat them, and run out on them. From the deep silence in the room, he suspected his brothers all felt the same, except possibly JD, who was too fucking kind-hearted for his own good.

Ezra shattered the stillness by standing. He pulled a paper from his pocket and unfolded it, then crossed the room to Chris, who rose to face him; he had no intention of looking up at the man. One thing certain about rabid dogs is you don't give them any advantage over you. Ezra held out the paper. Chris studied Ezra's composed face and knew the diffuse pain he was feeling was going to bloom into agony when he had time to assimilate everything they'd learned.

Ezra looked back at him steadily--_throwback eyes_\--not a flinch in him, still holding out the paper. Chris set his jaw and took it. Cold washed over him as he saw it was a death certificate, notarized in Savannah, for one Ezra Parnell Smith, aged six years and nine months. His throat closed up and the paper shook as he was slammed with an acute memory of kissing Ezra's smooth cold cheek in the last moments he'd ever seen him before he--

Before he let strangers take his terrified little brother away to a lonely death in a foreign place among yet more strangers.

"Chris?"

All his brothers were on their feet and gathering, making a circle around him and Ezra--this counterfeit Ezra, who had their brother's name and had intended to take advantage of it and their good will. Chris held the certificate out to Josiah, but pinned his eyes on the impostor. Ezra met his gaze for a moment, then flicked his eyes away. Josiah passed the paper to Buck, who scanned it and gave it to Vin.

"I'll just get my things--"

"Get out." Buck's voice was harsh as acid rain.

Ezra licked his lips, then gave a curt nod and walked to the door. They parted to let him through, but followed him. He took his coat from the hook beside the back door, but didn't put it on, just held it over his arm. He dug in the coat pocket for his keys as he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. Without a glance at any of them, he walked through the dark yard to his car and got in. The powerful engine purred into life and the LeSabre disappeared down the driveway.

Chris stood silently in the cluster of his brothers watching the red tail lights wink out of sight as the car turned onto the main road at the end of the drive, taking with it the last vestiges of their hope and leaving them only loss and bitterness.

:::::::

"But why's he hanging around, d'you think?"

"Why's who hanging around?" Chris rolled his shoulders as he entered the kitchen on the tail-end of JD's question. He and Vin had had a long day, but it was crowned with the satisfaction of the trail rides area nearing completion.

They'd ditched the name Seven Sons. It had meant throwing out the stationery Ezra had ordered, wasting the money, but none of them could stomach the idea of using anything he'd been responsible for; and, anyway, they weren't seven. Hadn't been seven for almost twenty years and never knew it. They didn't need a name that would mock them with its reminder of loss.

"This has been the Larabee Ranch since Dad first bought the land; we don't need no fancy-nancy name to sell what we got to offer." Buck's hard, uncompromising voice had spoken for all of them.

He and Josiah had checked the books the evening Ezra left, combing the accounts to see if Ezra had stolen anything. Discovering Ezra had used his access to the ranch's accounts scrupulously, paying only for ranch business and keeping a meticulous record of everything he did, had been a relief, yet also almost a let down. Reflecting on that sense of almost disappointment as he worked grimly beside a silent Vin the following day, Chris finally decided it was due to their having no reason to go after Ezra and punish him. No reason to put the law on him; no good solid reason to seek him out and kick the shit out of him.

He wanted Ezra to hurt, the way he'd hurt them. He suspected all of them felt the same, with the possible exception of JD. JD was hurt, but he didn't seem to feel a desire to give pay back. Even usually easygoing Nathan, when they phoned him to tell him the news, had reacted more intolerantly than JD, despite Nathan's barely having been able to meet Ezra.

"Ezra," JD said.

Chris flinched at hearing the name; they'd avoided saying it, resentment over the creep having a name that was special to them only making the whole freaking mess worse.

JD continued, "We saw his car outside the Gem when we were in town this afternoon."

Chris glanced at Josiah, who looked up from spooning stew into bowls to nod. Buck and JD put the bowls on the table and sat down. Chris took Vin's place at the sink and washed his hands.

"Maybe he's hoping to get his stuff back," Vin mused.

"Hell, he'd have to be stupider than he looked to come out here ever again."

"Yeah, Buck, but it is his stuff." JD looked at him as Chris sat down. Why the hell JD looked to him all the time, Chris didn't know, but it was damned irritating.

They ate in silence. It'd been three days since the guy had blown their world apart. In three days, Chris's hurt had settled into stone cold fury. He'd at least thought...Ezra--the wrong Ezra, the nobody-Ezra--would have left. What the hell could be so important among his belongings that would keep him here?

He pushed his empty plate away and strode into the mud room. Josiah had put Ezra's things into his suitcase and left it there. Buck had wanted to throw it out; Josiah suggested giving it to the Sally-Ann. JD looked shocked and Vin just pursed his lips and kept his own counsel. None of them had been able to make an actual decision, so it sat there, an expensive leather bag with _EPS_ etched on a metal plate, incongruously out of place in the shabby room. Chris swung it up onto the folding table and opened it. He raked through it: shirts, underwear, pants, toiletries. No papers or wallet or personal items. The only non-clothing thing in it was a book, Robert Ludlum's _The Bourne Identity_. He tossed the hardcover volume back into the suitcase; could have figured Ezra'd be reading the latest bestseller. He sighed as he looked at the mess of clothes, then stuffed them back into the case and snapped it shut.

"What'd you hope to find?" Buck was still flinty-eyed after three days. Chris saw the same look in the bathroom mirror every morning.

"Something to screw him over with, what else?" He grinned, not pleasantly. "Long shot, but would've been nice." He picked up the case and pushed past Buck into the hall. He dropped it on the floor and took his jacket from a hook.

"Going somewhere?" Vin's drawl drew Chris's eyes to the rest of his family gathered watching.

"He wants his stuff, he can have his fucking stuff. I'll deliver it in person and he can slither back where he came from."

And they'd never have to think about Ezra Parnell Standish/Simpson/Sutton/Saunders/Smith/Shithead again.

"I'll go with you." Buck reached for his coat.

Chris put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. "No, it's okay. Satisfying as it would be to beat the guy up, or just put the fear of God into him, we don't need the hassle. I'll give him his things and suggest he leave; can't see he'll have any reason to stick around."

Easy to tell Buck they didn't need the trouble, but his hands were sweating on the wheel as he drove into town. He wanted badly to wrap both of them around Ezra's neck and throttle him until that bland, smooth face cracked with pain to match the pain Ezra'd dealt them with heartless calculation. When he reached the Gem Motel on the Interstate, he parked in a shadowed corner and looked at the flashy red 1960 Buick LeSabre. It looked as out of place in the parking lot of this economy hotel, which catered to low-end tourists in the summer months and barely limped along the rest of the year, as it had at the ranch. He wondered if Ezra had conned somebody out of the money to buy his precious toy, and how many people he cheated to pay for its upkeep.

And he wondered for the hundredth time why Ezra hadn't carried through on his plan to fleece them. He'd had them eating out of his hand, convinced he was theirs, under the spell of all that suave charm of his. He could have emptied their bank accounts and disappeared, left them flat broke as well as hurting, probably with his next set of ID ready and waiting so he couldn't be traced. The car was distinctive, but scoot out of the state, change the license plate, and it would be just another vintage car on the road. Ezra could have been clear of them within a couple of hours of driving east. He wouldn't have made off with much, given the state of the Larabee finances, but it would at least have given him a return on what he'd spent coming here.

Chris walked with the suitcase to the LeSabre. The soft white top was up. He looked through the window at the ticket on the dash with the room number prominently displayed and went up to the second floor two steps at a time. The curtains were drawn across the window. The place was quiet; at the tail-end of the off-season, tourists were a mere trickle and the hotel was likely mostly empty. He hesitated, thinking of just dumping the case and leaving. Let Ezra find it and think what he wanted. He was suddenly unsure if he'd be able to see the guy without flattening him. He took a breath and squared his shoulders. The point was to get rid of Ezra; leaving his bag outside where it might be stolen wouldn't accomplish dick.

He rapped on the door. Nothing sounded inside the room; he couldn't hear even the TV or a radio on. Out to dinner? He looked from the walkway over the area. No place within easy walking distance he could think of that offered food decent enough to make it worth the effort. He knocked again, harder, and was rewarded by the sound of movement inside.

Ezra's hair was damp and he smelled of hot water and soap, but he was dressed in neat gray slacks and a white shirt. Surprise crossed his face, but gave way almost instantly to a brittle smile.

"Well, well, Mr. Larabee, just the man I didn't expect to see tonight. To what might I owe this dubious pleasure?"

He couldn't stop the spurt of fury at seeing the face that had become briefly so familiar he could trace each of its lines in his mind and hearing the drawl that had gone past sounding alien to seeming just right. He tossed the suitcase onto the floor inside the door and watched Ezra glance at it.

"All your things are there. You've got no more reason to hang around."

Ezra looked up, his clear green eyes regarding him with a steady gaze that nonetheless told Chris nothing. "Is that why I've been 'hanging around'?"

Chris laughed bitterly. "It better be. There's nothing for you here, Standish. If you've set your sights on somebody else to fuck with, you can forget about it. We won't let it happen."

Ezra tilted his head. "Is this where you threaten that you and your brothers'll beat me up in a dark alley one night if I don't get out of Dodge pronto?" A cocky smile turned up the sides of his mouth.

"What the fuck is the matter with you? What kind of a man goes around preying on people and finds it amusing?"

Chris found himself moving inside the room without volition, but, once on the move, he had no inclination to stop himself. He heard the door swing shut behind him, closing them in the small room lit only by a bedside lamp. The hurt spot inside him took satisfaction from seeing Ezra back away from him with a wary look replacing the cocky one. Chris kept moving forward, wanting to make the guy sweat, wanting to deal out the pay-back he'd denied Buck.

Ezra stopped backing up when he reached the center of the room, where he set his feet and looked mulish. Chris gave Ezra points: he'd retreated only to gain a position from which he'd be able to get a clear swing at Chris if necessary. The canny bastard probably knew every trick there was to looking after his worthless hide; he might look like he was born with a gold spoon in his mouth, but his moves were a golden-toothed sewer rat's.

Chris didn't stop moving when Ezra did; he walked right on into him, until they were standing close enough to feel each other's heat and hear each other's breathing, and Ezra had to look up to watch his face. Even so, Ezra still didn't lose his nonchalant air, though Chris could feel the tension in his body.

"Was there something else I could do for you, Mr. Larabee?"

It took a moment for Chris to realize Ezra was running a hand up his arm. He looked down at the manicured hand, smooth and unmarred as the rest of Ezra, as though he'd been shaped from a finer clay than the rest of them--or had a finer finish over a far rougher base. He watched the hand move up his arm, at a complete loss to figure out what the hell game Ezra was playing this time. He looked back at his face as Ezra licked his lips, eyes intent on him with heat vying with the wariness. Then Ezra's hand roamed from his shoulder to his chest, sliding inside his open jacket and pressing against his sternum; he could feel the warmth of the hand through his T-shirt.

He shoved Ezra backwards, then shoved again as Ezra stumbled, and again until Ezra's back hit the wall, following him each step.

"You sick fuck!"

Ezra's eyes were bright as he looked up at him, and Chris paused at the hint of an anger as vast as his own before Ezra's lids swept down, hiding the raw emotion. They stood pressed chest-to-chest, breathing heavily, both of them tense as coiled steel. Chris could smell Ezra's shampoo, was rocked by the ordinariness of it, and felt unwelcome heat at his groin.

"I want to know something." His voice came out a croak, and he cleared his throat as Ezra looked up at him again, his eyes now shuttered. "These conning ways of yours. You get them from your mother? She raise you up to be the lying, cheating asshole you are?"

Ezra looked surprised, as though, for the first time, Chris were taking a road Ezra didn't have a ready answer for. A blank mask slammed down over his features, but it was only moments before he answered with his usual unruffled calmness.

"My mother is a businesswoman. A remarkable woman, as it happens, who has done her best to teach me a trade."

Chris sifted from the oblique answer what he'd feared to hear. He blinked at a sudden pain in his temple, looking away from Ezra. He had all he'd come for and was gathering himself to leave when Ezra's hand moved flat-handed up his chest to his neck and around to splay against his nape. Ezra leaned against him and pressed his mouth to the base of Chris's throat. Chris was suddenly so hard he hurt, with the feel and scent of Ezra choking him and his anger and pain a huge knot in his gut. The physical presence of Ezra and the emotions he roused were inextricably tangled together; the simultaneous desire to make Ezra hurt--somehow, some way--and eject Ezra from his mind and feelings once and for all rose in a sickening wave.

He'd have preferred to hit the handsome, too-smooth face and batter the body he'd been tricked into thinking was precious to him, but when Ezra opened Chris's fly and released his rigid cock, that worked, too, and was more viscerally satisfying. He looked down into the watchful face, gave a feral smile and paused only long enough to see Ezra's eyes narrow before he leaned back just far enough to turn Ezra to face the wall and slammed him forward. He pulled Ezra's hips back and kicked his feet apart. He'd half-expected Ezra to resist when it came down to it, but Ezra looked over his shoulder at him and pressed his ass back to grind against his erection. Chris hissed a breath as he reached around to undo Ezra's pants and pushed them and his briefs down to his knees in one scrabbling move.

"Yeah, yeah, do it, go on, try to hurt me. Try to hurt me. Go on, see if you can. Just try, just try...."

He used Ezra's taunting voice as encouragement to his anger, used it to block out the tiny voice in his head that was screaming this was wrong. He spit into his hand and slicked his cock, already dripping pre-come he spread over the head, and pressed two fingers into Ezra's anus, scissoring them to make space for himself, not to make it easier on Ezra. He heard Ezra's breath hitch, and he pressed the muscle wide enough to accept the tip of his cock. He stopped then, blinking, feeling the rock-hard muscles in the back his chest was pressed against and wondering what the hell he was doing while his body clamored to do it, to fuck the bastard, make him hurt, make him shut the hell up. He was about to pull away when Ezra pressed his ass back and Chris's cock slid a couple of inches into the tight, clinging passage.

He heard Ezra's hiss mingled with his own, but Ezra immediately continued his litany: "Do it, do it, try to hurt me, go on, fuck me, try to hurt me, just try to hurt me. See if you can do it, see if you can hurt me."

Any idea of stopping fled. He slammed all the way inside with a single, hard movement and closed his eyes at the grip around his cock that was almost too painful. He felt Ezra tremble, and that felt good, but Ezra was still spouting that insane challenge, and as soon as Ezra's sphincter loosened enough to relieve some of the constriction, Chris fucked his cock in and out with a force that made Ezra brace himself against the wall with muscles straining in his arms. The thin shirt covering Ezra's back dampened with sweat that Chris's T-shirt absorbed, wicking it up to pass it to the skin of Chris's chest, and still Ezra taunted him: "Try to hurt me, try, just try, try to hurt me, see if you can...."

Ezra dropped a hand from the wall and grabbed his own cock. Chris held Ezra's hips, holding him in place, though the only movement Ezra made was to push backwards in rhythmic counterpart to Chris's thrusts, helping his own fucking. His head was turned to look over his shoulder as he spoke; Chris closed his teeth at the joining of Ezra's neck and shoulder on the other side, away from the eyes trying to see him and the taunt he expected would be in them, accompaniment to the jeering voice.

When he came, Chris bit down and Ezra's voice hitched to a stop, but started up again after the merest pause: "That the best you can do? That it, that all you got in you? You'll have to try harder if you want to hurt me."

Chris slumped against him feeling the tremors in Ezra's back as Ezra jerked himself at a furious pace toward his own climax. Ezra's anal muscles spasmed around Chris's sensitized cock as Ezra came, spurting against the wall. Chris winced and closed his eyes, his teeth still gripping Ezra's shirt-covered shoulder muscle. The taste of salt-damp cloth was in his mouth, like ashes, and the smells of sex and sweat had wiped out the clean scent of soap.

Chris ringed the end of his cock and pulled himself gingerly out, still partially hard, and pushed away on rubbery legs with a hand against Ezra's back. He staggered a few feet away, fetching up against the edge of the bed. He stared at Ezra leaning against the wall, his shirt clinging to his back and his pants around his knees; his ass glistened with Chris's come. Ezra was resting his head against his braced arm and he'd stopped talking at long fucking last. Nothing broke the silence in the room but their joint harsh breathing.

Chris tucked his cock away and zipped his jeans. He stepped as close to Ezra as he could without touching him and leaned to speak into his ear, "Hurt you? How about this: I'm glad my little brother died since it meant he escaped growing up to be like you."

He paused only long enough to confirm there wouldn't be a hint of response on Ezra's expressionless face half-turned to him, then swiveled on his heel and left. He heard the door click shut behind him as he bounded down the stairs and gulped the fresh air, feeling as though he couldn't get enough, as though every cell in his body were starved for it.

He meant to go straight home, but ended up instead at the seediest bar in town, his familiar stomping ground years ago when they'd lost the boys and before he met Sarah, then again after he lost her and Adam. Wickes' Tavern had dim lighting, greasy plastic furniture, and scantily clad waitresses who would do more for a tip than bring you a clean glass. He picked up a glass of draft at the bar and found an empty table in the back. When Lydia came while he was nursing his second beer and propped a hip against the table, he considered going with her and fucking Ezra out of his pores and mind, but it seemed too much effort and he abruptly realized how tired he was. He kissed her fingers trailing down his cheek, gave her a promise for "next time," and left.

The house was dark when he got home except for the back porch light and a light in the kitchen. It was only a little past eleven, but ranchers got up early; he'd be hell to work with tomorrow. Lucky Vin.

When he entered the kitchen, Buck looked up from the kitchen table over the top of the newspaper. Coffee was fragrant in the room and Chris made a beeline for the pot.

"Hey, pard, I was wondering if you'd got lost." Buck lifted his eyebrows at him as Chris leaned against the counter with a mug of coffee in hand and looked at him. "From the look of you, you got lost in fa-mi-li-ar territory."

Buck's cheerful, knowing grin was balm on the sore place inside him. Chris smiled back. "Have I mentioned lately what an annoying brother you are?"

"Hell, you know you couldn't stand to be without me." Buck said it breezily, their old one-two routine, his eyes on the newspaper as he folded it and tossed it on the end of the table.

Chris felt the bottom drop out of him again. When Buck went to the sink to wash up his mug, Chris put a hand on his shoulder and leaned close, murmuring on a heartfelt sigh, "You have no idea."

Buck looked at him, all teasing gone, and smiled gently. "Yeah, Chris, I do." He waited until Chris nodded, then whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "But just a suggestion, pard: you might wanna get a shower before the kids get a whiff of you. You're smelling a bit rank there."

"Jesus, Buck." He laughed as only Buck could always make him laugh and the world seem brighter. "The 'kids,' huh? I doubt JD would notice and Vin wouldn't care. But a shower and bed does sound like heaven."

:::::::

He'd expected the matter of Ezra Standish to be finished and done with. Instead, he found to his annoyance the taste of the man's sweat seemed to linger in his mouth, the smell and sound and feel of him all refusing to be banished as though Ezra had imprinted on him. Hard work blanked out all thought of Ezra; being with his brothers blanked out Ezra, too. As soon as he was alone, however, the taunting voice sounded over and over in his head: "Try to hurt me, go on, see if you can."

He couldn't figure out how, while Ezra was living with them, they'd entirely missed the fact the guy was a psycho. He'd seemed normal, level-headed, smarter than most. He was more sophisticated than the rest of them--even Josiah with all his traveling and spiritual studies and Nathan with all his education--and had experiences none of them could quite relate to, but he'd seemed perfectly normal. Too damned charming for any of their good, and too cocky for his own, but not displaying any obviously off-the-wall quirks.

They'd accepted him as one of them, made a place for him, thought of him as theirs. They'd thought he'd be with them for the rest of their lives, staying in touch if not physically settling down nearby. It rattled Chris to think all six of them were so naive they'd missed seeing what Ezra was really like--not in the conning, but in himself.

Two days after his encounter with Ezra, Chris was in town running an errand and found himself detouring to the Gem. He pulled in across the road at sight of the red LeSabre in the parking lot. What the hell the man was hanging around for, he couldn't imagine, but it wasn't any of his concern. He put the truck in gear and drove home.

After supper, restless and facing another disturbed night, he took the truck's keys and headed out, followed by a smirking, pointed comment from Buck in reference to Wickes' and Josiah's rumbling laughter. As he shut the door, he heard JD demanding to be told what the joke was.

The LeSabre wasn't at the Gem, but the town was small and nightlife options limited. He wasn't surprised to find it parked at the only swank bar in town. He went into the lounge of Virginia's Hotel and peered through the muted lighting until he saw Ezra sitting alone at a table at the farthest reach from the dance floor. Chris studied the lone figure for several moments before walking over. Ezra was playing some complicated game of solitaire, the cards spread on the table before him, and didn't look up as Chris approached and stood over the table, staring at him.

"I don't need a refill at the moment, thank--" Ezra glanced up and broke off. For a moment, he studied Chris, then his mouth turned up in one of his grins that suggested he had some private joke the rest of the world was too stupid to get. "Mr. Larabee. My, my, what a surprise. What brings you to this den of iniquity on a Wednesday evening?"

"What the hell are you still doing hanging around here?"

Ezra opened his eyes wide and mimed surprise. "Oh, my, did I somehow miss seeing the sign that says this town is open only to residents? Dear me. I could have sworn certain members of the community were hoping to exploit the tourist industry that flourishes during parts of the year." He looked up at Chris with an eyebrow raised and his head tilted.

Chris resisted an urge to reach across the table and haul Ezra up and slap the cocky look off his face. "There's nothing here for you, Standish. You've got everything you came with and you're lucky no one's rearranged that pretty face for you. I'd suggest you get out of town before that changes."

Ezra just kept smiling up at him, then lifted his hand and rubbed his thumb over his bottom lip. "So, Mr. Larabee, you think I'm pretty?" He laughed at Chris's look, and purred, "Perhaps I was mistaken and it wasn't principally about _hurting_ me the other night, after all."

With the sinuousness of a snake uncoiling, Ezra flowed to his feet and stepped close enough that his chest touched Chris's; Chris locked his muscles and refused to move as he looked down into provocative eyes. Ezra gave off the clean smell of the soap again, but Chris's senses overrode it with the memory of sex and sweat and hard bunched back muscles straining under his chest and growing damp and hot.

"Or maybe you'd like another shot at hurting me? Does that sound appetizing, Mr. Larabee?" Ezra touched the back of his hand and Chris jerked, suddenly aching hard, and certain, from the deepening smile on the suave face, that Ezra was aware of it. "You might even, if you do a good enough job of it, convince me there is actually no reason for me to stay in the area."

Ezra turned to move sideways past him, but he pressed his pelvis against Chris in passing so Chris felt Ezra's erection against his thigh. Ezra trailed his hand over Chris's crotch in another subtle bit of byplay in the dim corner, then was past him and moving away with a last flashing look over his shoulder.

The heat faded when Ezra was gone and Chris looked around, suddenly acutely aware of being in public. No one was looking, however, and no one seemed to have noticed anything. He turned and threaded his way through the tables, glad of the dimness and his hip length jacket. When he emerged into the cool night air, his eyes moved instantly to the spot where the convertible had been parked. It was gone. As he climbed into the truck with the intention of going home, he told himself it was for the best.

He kept telling himself the same thing all the way to the Gem. He parked across the street in a dark pool between two street lights and stared at the featureless building. He could see light bleeding around the edges of the curtain across Ezra's window. What the hell was the guy hanging around for? And why did it matter? Leave him alone and, without someone to torment, he'd get bored and leave...maybe. Chris had the unsettling feeling he was no closer to being able to predict what Ezra Standish might do in any given situation now than he had been before their encounter two nights ago; but he wanted to prove to himself he could.

He walked past the LeSabre and up the stairs. Ezra opened the door at his knock and looked at him unsmiling. He'd removed his jacket and tie, and his hair, usually neat as a Ken doll's, looked like he'd run his fingers through it more than once. He was holding a bathroom glass with a large measure of golden liquid in it.

Chris was waiting for a sultry challenge, but Ezra changed direction on him again. Ezra just kept frowning at him and seemed disinclined to invite him in, make any kind of lewd advance, or even try to needle him. He looked tired and pale in the bright overhead light, his large eyes shining with that unusual clear green that made Chris's throat tight. Anger surged in response to the unwelcome emotion and he pushed his way inside. He turned to watch as Ezra, with a shrug, shut the door and drank from the glass as he turned to face Chris. A half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, minus its cap, was on the dresser.

"Ready for the second round, Mr. Larabee?" Ezra's drawling sarcasm made Chris's gut tighten.

"All I want to know is what you're doing here. What all this--" he gestured vaguely around the room and glanced at the wall where he'd fucked Ezra two nights before "--is about. What exactly do you want, Standish?"

Ezra leaned against the dresser and looked at him with hooded eyes. "I suppose I want what everyone wants--which is to say, precisely what you want since we're not as unlike as you'd like to think."

Chris waited for further explanation, but Ezra just stared at him as though Chris should pick his meaning out of the air. Chris gave a frustrated growl. "We don't share a thing in common."

"Don't we?" Ezra put the glass down and walked toward him. "Then what are you doing here? Why did you seek me out, first in the bar, and now here?" He stopped close in front of Chris and put a hand on his chest, inside his jacket, a warm, firm touch Chris could feel like a burn through his T-shirt. "What do you want from me that's so different from what I want from you?"

He ran his hand up Chris's chest and around the nape of his neck; Chris let Ezra pull his head down, but when Ezra leaned forward apparently to kiss him, Chris turned his face away. Ezra, without missing a beat, pressed his mouth to Chris's throat and licked up to his jaw line while his other hand moved between their bodies and pulled Chris's T-shirt out of his jeans.

Chris closed his eyes, knowing he should move, push the intrusive hands away, stop this. Go home to the safe certainty of his brothers and the well-trodden demarcations of life on the ranch. He had a future worth working for and looking forward to now. The last thing he needed was a crazy loon in his life. He'd had enough of that kind of roller-coaster ride for a wild period with Ella Gaines before he met Sarah. He should push the bastard away and--

Ezra pulled down Chris's zip and slid one hand inside his pants while the other moved flat-handed over his chest. Chris sucked in a breath and opened his eyes in time to see Ezra fall gracefully to his knees and lick up the length of Chris's dick from root to tip, where he swirled his tongue around the piss-slit.

Chris's head thunked against the wall and he put his hands onto the head bobbing at his crotch. Okay, no problem, going home could wait, wouldn't be long, just a blowjob--_oh, God, Ezra's mouth was as good at something else as it was at talking_\--no danger in staying with the fruitcake just for the duration of a blow....

Ezra's hair was soft under his palm and he threaded his fingers into the short strands. Sarah's hair had been long and luxurious; he could lose both hands in its thick strands. Ezra's was short enough to let Chris feel the shape of his skull and stroke down to the cool bare skin of his neck, where the tendons shifted with Ezra's movements. Ezra was bobbing his head forward and back as he worked Chris's dick in and out of his mouth. Chris stroked Ezra's head over and over with one hand and held the back of his neck with the other the entire time. He pulled his eyes open and looked down at the handsome face, so fucking familiar--and yet not. Not theirs, not his; just an asshole who'd crossed their path. Just an asshole with a hell of a talented mouth and hair soft under his fingertips and a vulnerable skull that fit in the curve of his hand like it belonged, even if nothing else about him did.

He ran his hand from Ezra's neck to his shoulder and tugged at him. When Ezra raised his eyes, Chris nodded to the bed. Ezra released his dick and let himself be pulled up and to the bed. Chris didn't look at him; it was easier if he didn't see the face he'd thought belonged to his brother, the face of the man who'd betrayed them. Just go with the feel and the smell of him, and Ezra's touch branding him. He closed his hand around Ezra's wrist and they moved to the bed in concert.

Easier than seeing him was feeling Ezra's skin and hair under Chris's palms; easier to absorb the sensation of Ezra's clever hands moving on his body; easier to hear Ezra's mutters and grunts and to smell him, the scent of his soap overlain with the smell of arousal and sweat. They fell lengthwise on the bed and Chris unfastened Ezra's shirt, pushing it off his arms to fall on the floor, revealing the chest as smooth and hairless as a woman's, but with a man's hard, sculptured planes. He pressed both palms to Ezra's chest and felt the small hard points of his nipples. Nothing soft here, nothing womanlike.

Ezra's hands moved over Chris's bared torso, pushing him down with insistent strength. They tugged at each other's, then their own pants, until they were both naked, and Ezra shifted down to reach Chris's groin, hands and tongue trailing fire before he closed a fist around Chris's dick and enveloped it again in his mouth. Chris stroked Ezra's shoulders, feeling the ripple of the muscles beneath the skin. His climax came with warmth all around him, the warmth of Ezra's hands holding him, Ezra's throat muscles milking him as he swallowed, Ezra's skin under his hands.

Ezra was holding his own flushed cock and jerking it with movements that looked more painful than pleasurable. Chris watched him for a moment, then reached down and pushed his hand away.

He leaned close and murmured, "Still looking for hurt, Standish?"

He took Ezra's dick in a firm grip and pumped hard, but not with the painful force Ezra had used. Ezra relaxed back on the bed, panting; he laid a hand on Chris's shoulder, rubbing in circles in a motion Chris found vaguely unsettling. Chris tried to shrug him off, but Ezra's hand just smoothed its way back where he wanted it and took up the stroking as though it hadn't been interrupted.

Ezra came with a long, low moan, lifting his hips from the bed as Chris directed the come onto Ezra's abdomen and chest. Ezra's grip on his shoulder tightened as he rode out his climax. Chris watched him through the orgasm, feeling something like a voyeur, which didn't bother him; and something like he belonged, which did. He reached across Ezra's heaving chest and wiped his hand on the sheet, then flopped down onto the pillow. Ezra drew in a deep breath, used the same sheet to swipe down his chest before pushing it aside, and lay down close against Chris's side.

"There's all sorts of pain, Mr. Larabee. As I know you're aware."

He was damned sure Ezra kept drawling his surname to needle him, to keep the reminder sizzling between them of Chris as one of those hick-stupid Larabees who had welcomed Ezra and wanted to make him one of them. He let his arm on the pillow over his head curve down and around Ezra's head to touch the point of his shoulder. Warm, sweaty skin and the smell of sex. Not a brother; this body was no flesh of his. He pushed his arm down and Ezra shifted, letting it shove down under him and circle his back. Just a cheap fuck in a cheap motel room. Hell, Ezra was even cheaper than Lydia.

He laughed. Ezra tilted his head on Chris's shoulder to look up at him, eyebrows raised. Chris looked at the face close to him that was looking less by the minute like the one he'd thought briefly was his brother's. He smiled into Ezra's eyes--_not throwback eyes_\--and closed his arm around the broad shoulders. "You're even cheaper than the cheapest whore in town."

Ezra snorted, and managed to make it sound lazily elegant. "Nice try, Mr. Larabee, but you'll have to make more effort than that to hurt me."

The room was warm, almost cozy despite its tawdriness. The soft breath against his throat was warm as an illusion, like everything to do with Ezra Standish. He carded his free hand through Ezra's hair, looking at the shadow cast on Ezra's cheeks by his lashes. An illusion of vulnerability in a man with a soul as hard as the body that was honed as a knife, and as much a weapon.

"What do you think we have in common?"

"We're renegades, you and I." Ezra's lips touched his throat as he spoke. "We're both renegades looking for someone to save us from the lonely void."

Chris thought about it. He thought about this warm, pliable body in his arms, and thought about the emptiness of his bed at home. He felt the soft hair under his cheek, catching on his beard stubble, and felt the regular breathing as Ezra's chest rose and fell against his side.

He thought of anger, and of the bitterness Ezra had brought them.

"No, you're wrong." He spoke in a hushed voice into a still ear. "I want more than just someone."

He loosened his arms, pulling at the one lying under Ezra, who, after a moment, lifted himself enough to free it before sinking back down. Ezra pulled his legs up into a curl on the bed and watched as Chris went into the bathroom and relieved himself, then pulled on his clothes. Chris felt the gaze and ignored it until he was ready to go, then he turned and looked across the ill-lit room. Ezra hadn't covered his nakedness with the blankets, but he'd pulled his leg up to hide his sex. He looked tousled, his pale skin gleaming, yet not flaunting or wanton. He was just himself: a handsome, naked, somber man in a cheap motel room in a town far from home. Chris swallowed against the loneliness palpable between them and forced away a sense of unwelcome--and as illusory as everything else about Ezra--connection.

"Go back where you came from." He turned and left.

He stopped at Wickes' on the way home to get a pack of Players from the machine in the foyer. He'd quit smoking when he was dating Sarah and hadn't returned to it steadily even after her death. At times, however, only nicotine soothed his nerves. He smoked three in succession, lighting each from the glowing butt of the previous, during the drive home on an almost empty road, feeling the burn of the smoke in his throat as a reminder of long ago wild days he'd never regretted leaving behind. Too much booze, too much sex with the wrong people, too many bar fights and lighting into anyone who looked at him sideways, including Buck. Too many lost hours and nights that had seemed like they'd never end.

Exactly like the nights now.

The sight of the porch and kitchen lights left on as beacons guiding him home in the dark made nausea roll up in him. The combination of the unaccustomed nicotine in his lungs with the stink of sex and sweat in his nostrils contributed, but what mostly made him gag was the feeling he'd betrayed his family. Not because he'd fucked the man who'd hurt them, not even because he was letting Buck think he was going to Lydia or Maria, but because he couldn't quite rid himself of the feel of Ezra's skin tingling on his fingertips or the sound of Ezra's drawling voice gasping while he came.

He stayed home the next night, took Vin into town with him the one after that and introduced him to Wickes'. Vin looked around the bar with raised eyebrows, chugged down half a bottle of Black Label, and settled back into his seat looking as scruffy and at home as the rest of the crowd.

"Not exactly feeling any culture shock here, are you?" Chris grinned at this most placid of his brothers who seemed to handle everything that came his way with reliable calmness. And sanity--not to forget sanity. He gave sanity a lot more credit than he'd used to.

Vin gave him one of his lazy smiles. "Hell, I practically lived in places like this when I was a teenager. Bunch of us used to hitch rides into town from the rez, play pool and drink until we either got ourselves kicked out for being underage or got into a fight and had to hightail it before the cops arrived."

Well, that brought back a few memories. Chris tipped his bottle at him. "Those were the days, huh?"

"Hell, no. Along with hangovers, black eyes and split lips the next day, we had to suffer through the Elders lecturing us on the evils of white men's cities and 'unnatural practices.' We always wondered just what exactly these 'unnatural practices' were--in case we were missing out on something good, you know--but none of us ever got up the nerve to ask." He chuckled, and Chris grinned.

Yep, being with Vin was one of the most restful activities he'd ever known. The only other person who'd ever had as calming an effect on him was Sarah. It gave him a painful kind of comfort to draw a connection between Sarah and Vin. They didn't look anything alike. They _weren't_ anything alike, really, except in their effect on him. And that was, on the whole, good because it felt like he had a sliver of Sarah back with him when he was with Vin, but Vin was his own person and had made his own unique place next to Chris, valued entirely for himself. He'd hoped for years to find his little brothers; he'd never thought he'd find a close friend. Nerves raw from the way their lives had been flipped belly-up, he nevertheless picked at it like a scab.

"Sometimes I wonder, looking at this whole fucking mess that happened, whether we did the right thing trying to dig up the past." He lifted his eyes to meet Vin's across the table. The lights were too dim for him to see Vin clearly, but Vin's gaze was as steady as usual. "Maybe stirring up the past isn't such a good idea. Maybe you and JD would've been better off if we'd just left you alone in the lives you had. Neither of you remember anything about us or the ranch, so...I don't know. I can't imagine what it must feel like to suddenly be saddled with a whole freaking family you never knew you had and hadn't missed."

Vin's beer bottle caught the light and gleamed dark amber as he lifted it and took a long swallow. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth when he was done and smiled lazily. "Reckon it ain't much different from taking a pair of strangers into your house. I don't suppose there's much to recognize in me and JD of them kids you thought about all those years." His gravelly voice softened. "Family's a good thing to have, Chris. My mom taught me that. 'You're a Tanner,' she used to tell me, real fierce-like, like it was the most important lesson I had to learn. As long as I knew I was a Tanner, I'd know what I had and where I stood in the world. I grew up knowing my parents didn't love me because I was born a Tanner, but because they chose to bring me home and make me a Tanner alongside 'em. Seems to me that's pretty much the same thing you and Josiah and the others have done for me and JD."

Chris shook his head, a grin tugging at his mouth. "We're a freaking alphabet soup. Tanner and Dunne--"

Vin's teeth gleamed in the low light. "--Sanchez, Jackson--"

"--Wilmington--"

Vin lifted his beer bottle in a toast. "--and Larabee."

And with laughter and warm beer, with smoke-murky air in their lungs and seated in scummy surroundings, a crack healed inside Chris and he found himself daring to think everything might come up right for all of them despite everything.

Lydia sashayed over and leaned a hip against the edge of the table near where his hand was wrapped around his beer bottle. She gave Vin a sultry-eyed once-over upon being introduced, but switched her gaze immediately back to Chris. Used to her ways, Chris leaned back and smiled lazily at her. She was predictable, and safe in that way. There'd never be a surprise with Lydia, not in her appearance, behavior, likes and dislikes, desires or needs. He knew what to expect with her and he knew exactly what she wanted from him.

"Hey, sugar." She trailed a pointed, red-enameled nail down his cheek. "Been awhile since we seen you around here for more'n a couple of minutes."

"Been busy with my brothers." He tilted his head toward Vin and smiled as she immediately got the point. Easy to read as rainwater in a barrel.

She pushed off from the table and walked with swaying hips across the room, returning in less than a minute with a girl who was younger, blonder, shorter, and scrawnier than Lydia, but was nonetheless exactly like her. The girl had nice, even white teeth; she flashed them briefly at Chris upon being introduced as Shelly, then turned the full wattage of her smile on Vin. He blinked at her and smiled uneasily back, his eyes flicking to Chris.

Chris suppressed an amused snort, thinking of the first time he'd brought Buck here. All of sixteen, underage but taller than most of the men inside, Buck had stared in awe around the unpalatable place when they'd stepped inside as though Chris had led him into Paradise, then given Chris a dazzling beam with more shine to it than Shelly's and slid into the heart of the place like a seal into water. Chris had spent most of the rest of a frazzled night trying to keep tabs on him so Buck wouldn't get into any kind of situation that would mean a phone call to their dad. He'd finally had to haul Buck out of a back room and the arms of a predecessor of Lydia's at least fifteen years older than him so they could make it home in time for Buck's curfew. And after _that_ experience, he'd had to put up with Buck's continual entreaties for their return.

Thank Christ Vin was an adult who could look after himself. And it appeared he was going to be a restful companion in this regard as in all others.

"Maybe later." Chris leaned close to Lydia to slip a folded dollar bill down her cleavage, conveniently exposed and accentuated by her leaning over him with one hand on the table, the round tray balanced against her far hip. "My brother's new in town; I'm just showing him around."

Vin leaned back against the booth looking as though he were retreating as far from Shelly's jiggling bosom--it seemed every breath she took required the use of breast muscles--as he could, but he lifted an arm along the back of the booth and slouched with a casual air. He smiled nicely but distantly at the girl, his eyes sliding away. Her breasts retreated, her purple-lipsticked mouth pouted, and she shrugged and left for another table.

Lydia touched a red nail to Chris's hand where it held the bottle. "Well, sugar, you always know where to find me when you want me."

"Oh, you know I do." She blew him a red-varnished kiss with her fingers, paused to grace Vin with a sultry half-smile, and returned to the bar.

"Interesting wildlife you got in these parts." Laid-back humor infused Vin's raspy voice.

"We may be a small town, but we got big...ideas." He caught Vin's eye and they both laughed.

Chris glanced over to the bar to make sure Lydia wasn't in earshot. She was behind the bar, at the far end near the door, taking money from a customer.... Chris tensed, his hand clenching around the bottle. He peered through the smoky air, blinking like a man trying to bring a mirage into sharp focus. Then, just for a moment, the head turned and he was looking squarely at Ezra Fucking Standish, who was looking back at him with a steadiness that told him Ezra knew exactly what he was doing. He couldn't see well enough to judge the expression, but he could almost feel the heat of sardonic taunting from yards away. Anger flared hot along his nerves and tension flooded his muscles. He'd barely started to rise, however, when Ezra turned on a heel and left the bar. Chris sank back, adrenaline making his blood rush, staring at the shut door out to the parking lot.

"Something wrong?"

He dragged his eyes to Vin and saw him turned around peering over his shoulder. Chris shook himself and forced relaxation into his muscles.

"Nah. Thought I saw somebody I knew, but it wasn't him. Too frigging dim in this place to see anything clearly."

Suave, pale face above a brown leather bomber jacket unfastened over a shirt with a bolo tie at the neck, neat dark hair shining reddish even in the poor light. Chris's hand tightened on the bottle, his grasp suddenly slippery with sweat.

He lifted the bottle to his mouth and drained it. Vin took his silent hint and finished his own beer, standing at the same time Chris did without a word more said between them. They walked out into the fresh air in that same attuned companionship. Part of Chris's mind was fervently grateful all over again for the sweet ease of Vin's company; the other part was picturing Ezra lying on the bed in his cheap motel room with a sardonically taunting smirk wreathing his face.

Son of a _bitch_.

He kept his anger tamped down on the ride home as he and Vin discussed plans for the wilderness trails and minor ranch matters. When they got in, they sat with Josiah for a half-hour. Chris watched his brothers in the muted glow of a single lamp in the living room and felt his anger flow away entirely. Whatever game Ezra Standish was playing, what it came down to in the end was Chris here with his home and his family and Ezra alone.

_"We're both renegades looking for someone to save us from the lonely void."_

He knew what loneliness was, no doubt about that; knew its waves of pain. He lay in bed sleepless a couple of hours later, staring up at the ceiling yet again, and almost found it in him to pity Ezra. Vin was in the room across the hall in the unfinished addition with him. Josiah, Buck, and JD were in their rooms upstairs in the main house. He and Buck and Josiah were in the same home they'd had all their lives, apart from Josiah's intermittent wanderings; Vin and JD were back where they started, their lives looping back to bring them home. Nathan's room, left ready for him ever since the day he'd been taken away, was always waiting for him, all his things and the gathered mementoes of his life untouched between his absences. This house sheltered them all as it always had done.

Just as each of them sheltered each other, as they always had and would.

He thought of Ezra alone in the motel. Thought of the hints of what his childhood had been like, with no settled home, constantly on the move. An only child, no father, a mother who was often absent, a series of stepfathers always changing. And now, as an adult, no apparent home and not much family still, except his mother.

He sighed and turned over in bed, pulling the second pillow against his body and curling around it. Ezra wasn't his problem, yet he haunted too freaking many of his night hours. Chris made a conscious effort to clear his mind, thinking of their plans for the ranch and the jobs that needed to be done the next day. This was his life.

And it was a damned good one.

:::::::

Despite intentions, he made a lame excuse to Buck and Vin the following midday and took the truck into town. He was ostensibly in need of a new harness bit, but he drove past Potter's Farm Supplies straight to the Gem. He parked across the road and walked past the LeSabre and up the stairs.

Ezra opened the door and looked at him with a smile that was warm and natural rather than smirking. If only Ezra would behave as expected for once, Chris thought he'd be able to get a handle on this bizarre situation. Instead, every time he met up with him, Ezra threw him a curve ball. Chris looked at him this time with none of his previous anger. Compassion stirred in him; it was unwanted, but he could now accept the deeper feelings Ezra sparked in him.

He stepped inside and shut the door. Ezra gave way, stepping back. He was dressed casually, but his clothes were as neat as usual and his shoulders and back were straight. Chris looked at the handsome face and no longer saw the brother he'd briefly thought he'd regained. Instead, he saw a man he'd even more briefly been intimate with, and could no longer despise despite his wishes.

He reached out and touched Ezra's shaven cheek. The fresh smell Ezra's skin or hair or clothes exuded hit his senses and he felt regret, as unexpected as all the other emotions he'd been through since Ezra dropped his bombshell on them and walked--if not very far--out of their lives.

Ezra's smile faltered at his touch, but he leaned his face into the cradling hand as his eyes stayed set on Chris. He looked surprised and a little wary. For once, he didn't seem inclined to flap his mouth and that was unnerving, another denial of expectation. Chris wondered if knowing Ezra for a longer span of time would allow him to predict Ezra's behavior. But that wasn't to be.

He dropped his hand to his side and watched Ezra straighten, still gazing at him with those intense, luminous eyes that seemed to see more than most people--or, at least, more of Chris than most people did.

"It's time for you to go."

Ezra licked his lips, but didn't speak. His eyes stayed set on Chris.

Chris tore his eyes away and looked around the dreary room. He gestured vaguely. "This isn't the place for you, Ezra. You don't belong here and there's no point in staying. I don't know what you've been waiting for, but.... There's no point."

Ezra was still silent. His eyes, blinking rapidly, stayed steady on Chris, studying him. The smile had faded and he looked somber, but not in the least uncertain, the confidence he usually exhibited still in force.

Chris knew he should walk out, but, somehow, he needed the reassurance that Ezra understood and would do the sensible thing and leave. He resisted the urge to touch Ezra's warm skin again and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"There's nothing the hell here for you." He put all the conviction he could into the words. Ezra was a smart man; he must be able to see the truth for himself.

A tiny smile turned up the corners of Ezra's mouth. He licked his lips again and walked close to Chris with slow, even steps, not stopping until his chest was a whisper of touch against Chris's and Chris could hear his breathing.

Ezra's voice was a murmured caress: "Isn't there?"

Cool fingers slid around the back of his neck as Ezra pulled his head down with gentle, compelling pressure. It seemed to happen in slow motion; Chris had time to know all he had to do was pull back and he could stop it from going further. His pulse raced and, even before he felt the first touch of Ezra's lips, he knew he was going to allow it. Ezra's lips were cool as his hands. Ezra licked at his mouth and feathered a kiss to the corner of his lips. Chris shut his eyes and pressed their mouths together, his tongue sliding between Ezra's lips as they parted for him.

Ezra seemed warm, now, pressed against his chest, and the very touch of each of Ezra's fingers seemed to heat up as they got into a clinch. The rational part of his mind was yelling at him that he should pull away, that he was off his rocker for condoning anything to do with this goddamned insane asshole; but his dick was hard and his senses alight and Ezra's solid body felt achingly familiar in his arms in a way Lydia had never come to feel despite their numerous couplings. Ezra's scent was familiar, and the strength in his grip, and the aggressiveness of his tongue in Chris's mouth. He didn't even want to think how it could have happened, how Ezra had become branded on him, because it opened a door to a place he didn't intend to go.

He didn't want to think or consider or _know_. He just wanted to feel, for however brief a span of time he could grasp from eternity.

Ezra was tugging at his shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of Chris's jeans, and his hands slid underneath, shocking warm touch as they skated across his belly and up over his ribs. Ezra's mouth was on his throat, alternately kissing and sucking. He put his hands on Ezra's hips and pushed him backwards until they reached the bed, then guided him in a controlled fall onto the mattress. He set his knees to either side of Ezra's thighs and leaned forward to rest his weight on his elbows, but Ezra yanked him down to lie fully on him. Chris gasped and grinned, rubbing his hard dick against the bulge in Ezra's pants, and pulled back to look down at him. He froze.

Ezra's eyes were wide and blinking, set steadily on Chris's face. The muted light from the bedside lamp checkered his face with expressions. Chris fancied he saw hope, grief, joy, hurt: a potpourri of contradictory signals. The one clear thing he was sure of was that Ezra was far too serious for what Chris had thought was just another sexy moment. Another encounter so they could get this madness out of their systems, try again to move on and forget about each other and whatever untapped weirdness it was that drew them together.

Ezra dragged Chris's head down and pressed his cheek against the side of it. "Don't think," he breathed into Chris's ear. "Don't think. Just do, Chris. Do."

Ezra's hand pushed between their bodies, urging Chris's hips up. He pulled the snap of Chris's jeans open and pulled down the zip, sliding his hand inside and grasping his dick. Chris sank into the diversion.

"Do me. You want to. Don't you? Do me, come on, do me, do me." The sensuous, inflaming drawl gusting over his ear made him ache in myriad ways. Ezra's firm grip was slicking precome over the head of his dick. He felt a hazy, distant prickle of danger because he couldn't remember wanting anything, since he'd lost Sarah and found his brothers, as intensely as he wanted at this moment to meld himself into Ezra's hard, strong, demanding body. He turned off his brain, focusing on sensation alone. He rolled to the side to unfasten Ezra's pants and helped him shove them down. Ezra kicked them and his black briefs off, then put his heels flat on the bed and shoved himself backwards. He settled himself in the center of the bed, lying angled across the mattress from corner to corner. His knees were raised and he was gripping Chris's arms, pulling him forward and down onto him. Chris rubbed his hand over Ezra's tight balls, enjoying the soft warm skin sliding under his palm. He stroked his forefinger along the perineum, but hesitated when he touched Ezra's dry anus. He looked around blindly.

"It's all right, it'll be fine. You're slick enough and I'm ready. God, I'm ready, come on, come on." He was panting. His hot, damp breath sent a shiver down Chris's back.

Ezra lifted his legs, his strong thighs drawing Chris's hips closer. Chris felt the thrill in being led by Ezra's muscled body; it was nothing like Lydia, not even anything like Sarah, nor Ella long ago nor the men he'd fucked years past.

The men he'd had casual sex with were wispy things, most of them, best he could remember of them beyond the tightness of their assholes, the bending submissiveness of their bodies, the wet of their mouths on his dick, the touch of their fingers wrapped around it. They were body parts, floating incorporeal in his memory.

Ezra was solid and whole as Sarah, and more than a body. Ezra was his distinctive voice and the smell of him and the demands he continually made and his unpredictability Chris was coming to accept as predictable, resigned to being surprised and taken places he hadn't expected every freaking time they met, and made to feel emotions he'd thought behind him forever when he lost Sarah.

Ezra was fitting them together. As Chris's cock broached him, Ezra lifted his legs and locked them around Chris's back, shifting his hips in the process so Chris slid inside and then instinct took over and Chris thrust, and again, sheathing himself as Ezra ground his hips up and kept up a steady stream of meaningless words. Chris heard only the distinctive voice that wrapped around him like an embrace. The voice was as warm as Ezra's hands sliding over his back and sides under his shirt. Fingers pressed beneath the back waistband of his jeans, flowing down the hollow at the small of his back and brushing his ass. He groaned, more inflamed than if Ezra had been gripping his naked ass with both hands. Ezra drew his fingers away to hold his hips, forcing more speed.

Chris pumped into him, lifting his head to gulp in air, and caught their reflection in the dresser mirror. Ezra naked below him, legs lifted and spread, pale limbs cradling his own mostly clothed body. His shirt open, flashes of bare chest and nipple as he moved, his jeans low on his hips, his dick between Ezra's lifted thighs a solid connection between them. The base of his cock was hidden by his jeans, the head hidden in Ezra's body, and the rest of it a bridge.

Despite its thick hardness, it seemed suddenly a terribly fragile strand tying them together.

He blinked his eyes away, back down to Ezra's solid reality, only to meet a gaze set on him with unfathomable intensity. Then Ezra smiled and the look vanished, and Ezra's voice was urging him on, rough and honeyed at once, making his toes curl as Ezra's grip on his hips felt like they were branding him right through his jeans.

He was almost there. For an instant, he thought of pulling out, doing Ezra the courtesy of not climaxing inside him, then Ezra's sphincter clamped around the base of his dick and Ezra's voice was a rough compelling chant, "Do me, do me, Chris, do it, come on..." and he flooded into Ezra with first a grunt, then a whimper. As he collapsed over him afterwards, chest heaving, he felt Ezra's hand between their bodies pulling at his own dick. He thought hazily of helping him out, but before he could coordinate his movements, Ezra's cock pulsed against his belly and come splashed warm and messy between them.

Ezra sank into the mattress, the tension in his legs and body slowly seeping away and leaving him relaxed. Chris's dick slipped out of him as Ezra lowered his legs, and he caught a grimace on Ezra's face. Compunction caught at his nerves and he lifted himself off Ezra and lay on his side beside him. He didn't want to care if he'd hurt Ezra, if Ezra was sore, if Ezra regretted his abandonment.

He didn't want to feel any of the emotions he felt every damned time he was with Ezra.

"It was easier when I hated you."

Ezra's arm, resting against his, tensed, then relaxed again. "Yes, I know." He was still a little breathless.

Chris turned his head and saw Ezra had his arm across his eyes. He couldn't read anything on what he could see of Ezra's face. He looked down the length of Ezra's naked body stretched out on the bed, studying it for the first time. Ezra lay with unselfconscious abandon. His other hand rested on his gut, fingers rubbing the come against his skin. Chris imagined him doing that after he'd jerked off, and saw himself doing the same. Like, hell, every man whose most constant partner was Johnny Palmer.

Ezra's come had splashed on the front of Chris's shirt, the material damp and cold as it brushed against his skin. He pulled it off and dropped it on the floor. His dick was still hanging out of his open pants, slick and needing washing. He should get up and take care of that. He should zip himself up, put on his jacket, and leave--for the last time. He looked over Ezra's fine-skinned body again, noticing a small, puckered scar on his left shoulder. It was faded, probably old, barely noticeable. It was the only flaw he'd seen on Ezra's body. He rubbed his thumb over it and felt Ezra tense. Ezra dropped his arm above his head on the pillow and looked at him.

"Where'd you get this?"

Ezra was silent for so long Chris thought he wasn't going to answer. Then a brief smile crossed Ezra's lips. "A minor childhood incident." He shrugged and reached out, pressing a fingertip against the thin white scar on Chris's tanned right forearm.

"Had a strand of barbed wire snap against my arm when I was thirteen. Buck and I were only supposed to check for breaks in the back fence and let Dad and Josiah know about them so they could fix them, but we figured we could handle it ourselves." He chuckled, and heard a huff of amusement from Ezra. "By the time we got ourselves home, Buck's shirt around my arm was soaked with blood and I was leaning in the saddle. Buck was babbling about me losing my arm. Poor kid thought he'd killed me when he couldn't hold the pressure on the wire."

"Buck loves you very much." Ezra's voice was flat, devoid of its usual warm depths.

"We all love each other."

"Yes."

Ezra was waiting for him to leave, he realized; expecting him to get up and go. He let his eyes roam around the drab motel room, rank with the smells of sex and sweat that had overpowered Ezra's clean scent. He could feel the watchfulness in Ezra's stillness where their bodies touched. Against all expectations, he had a houseful of family that loved him, a home awaiting him. Ezra.... He didn't even know what Ezra had, if anything, or if he had a place he called home. He stared up at the stained ceiling tiles and thought of the years of lying alone staring at the ceiling in his bedroom. It might be cleaner and newer than this one, but it was just as empty a landscape.

"You should go back to your life, Ezra. There can't ever be anything here for you."

Silence spread over them like a puddle. He scratched at an itch on his stomach where Ezra's come was drying. He stared resolutely up, not at Ezra, who was so still beside him he could imagine he was alone except for the brush of warmth where their arms almost touched and the hairs on his skin stood on end.

"Dammit."

He rolled onto his side and pulled Ezra against him. Ezra was pliant in his arms, molding himself against him, his arms closing around Chris's back with clutching strength. He pulled Ezra's head down to rest against his chest.

"Go home. Jesus, Ezra, there's nothing to stay here for." He sighed, feeling that damned willfulness of Ezra's quivering in every cell of the body he held. "You're not going to go, are you?"

A long pause preceded Ezra's low, measured response. "Do you really want me to?"

Of course he did. That's what he opened his mouth to say. He wanted to say he never wanted to hear Ezra's drawl again, amused or ironic or sarcastic or strained. Never wanted to smell the scent of his skin after he'd showered. Never wanted to run a hand into his thick hair or down the silken skin of his chest, over his hard muscles warm with the pulse of blood flowing beneath the surface. Never wanted to be again with someone he knew felt the same palpable aloneness he did.

"We're both fucking cracked." He bit off a laugh. "Jesus, even _wanting_ anything together is sick considering--"

"What I did to you and your family."

"Yeah. And how all I wanted to do was make you pay."

Ezra chuckled, and wormed his upper leg between Chris's thighs. "Well, I understand vengeance. A human enough emotion, I'd hazard. Perhaps it's not as...sick...as it seems."

Chris shook his head. "No, it's no basis for people getting together. Anyway, even if I'm over it, the rest of my family won't be."

"And you are a packaged deal."

"Always." He felt back on firmer ground.

Ezra was stroking his hair, his fingers caressing him with a lulling rhythm. Chris settled his cheek against the top of Ezra's head and realized he'd somehow wrapped himself entirely around Ezra. A body as broad and solid as Ezra's shouldn't feel this vulnerable. And just because they understood each other in certain basic ways didn't mean they could build anything together; or, Christ in a sidecar, would ever want to. They'd got past the fury to something almost tender. It was time to move on, Ezra to go wherever he belonged and himself back to his life at the ranch, with Lydia or somebody like her for sex and his brothers for all he needed of feelings and companionship and their work to fill his days and tire him out to get through the nights.

Ezra's hand on his neck was stroking lethargy into him. He let his eyes close, let his senses narrow down to Ezra's touch and breathing and reality. A few last hours wouldn't make any difference.

He woke to a chill on his bare back and the awareness that Ezra, despite being quiet and motionless against him, wasn't asleep. He pulled back and saw Ezra's eyes set on him with a somber look. The thought of Ezra's having stared at him like that as he slept rattled him. He hadn't felt revealed like that with anyone since Sarah; his times with Lydia were brief and to the point, then they went their separate ways.

"You been watching me sleep?"

Ezra's gold tooth gleamed from a lip raised in a crooked smile. "Even a cat may look at a queen, Chris."

He spluttered a laugh, then lay back and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Jesus, Ezra, you're one of a fucking kind."

Ezra's body flowed over him, his weight on Chris's chest providing an odd sort of comfort. Chris lowered his arms and curved them around Ezra's broad back. The light coming into the room around the edges of the drapes was dimmer and he realized it must be nearing dusk. He'd missed supper at home and had told them he was just going for supplies. He sighed, then reached an arm for the phone. He hesitated with his fingertips on the black plastic. Ezra was motionless on him, only his warm, even breath against Chris's chest seemed to move. It hit him for the first time that he might actually never see Ezra again if he insisted, once more, that he leave. He wasn't prepared for the squeezed feeling in his chest at the thought.

He picked up the phone and dialed one-handed. He stroked the downy hair at Ezra's nape with his other hand as he lay back on the pillow and listened to the phone ringing in his ear.

"Larabee Ranch."

The familiarity of the low, raspy voice made his throat close for a moment. In the background, he could hear the murmur of the TV and voices.

"Hey, Vin, it's me."

A gusty sigh whistled in the receiver. "Hey, there. Pretty long supply run, cowboy."

He winced. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I got...hung up."

"Just a minute." Vin's voice lifted and went distant. "Yeah, it's him. He's fine." Into the phone, he said, "You are fine, I assume?"

"Yeah, of course. Just forgot the time."

"Uh-huh." Amusement laced Vin's voice, which suddenly matched Ezra's in drawling expressiveness.

Chris laughed. "Fuck you, Tanner. You've been talking to Buck too much."

"Now, you know it ain't possible to avoid _listening_ to Buck, so, yeah. But I didn't need my big brother to draw me a map." Vin laughed right back at him and the tightness in Chris's chest eased even while his arm closed convulsively around Ezra.

"You planning on bringing the truck home tonight or will we see you in the morning?"

"I--"

It was time to say he was on his way. Time to say he was finished taking care of business and had nothing left to do but get home. It was time to shift Ezra off him and get up and wash Ezra's come and Ezra's touch off him and dress and go home to his family, where he belonged. But the words stuck in his throat and he couldn't force them out.

"We'll see you in the morning, Chris. No need to rush back. Josiah, JD, and me are going up to survey that section by Quasim Creek tomorrow, see if we can extend the trail safely for greenhorn riders, so Buck'll be taking care of the general chores whenever you get home."

Gratitude washed over him as his dilemma was neatly resolved. "All right. Safe riding."

"Safe driving. See you."

He let the phone slide from his hand into the cradle, its clatter loud in the quiet. He wrapped his free arm around Ezra. It still made absolutely no sense to stay, to grab a few hours more of this madness. Ezra's hand stroked up his arm to curl loosely around his bicep, and the last tension flowed away from him.

"We probably deserve each other," he told the russet brown head tucked neatly under his chin. "We're both fucked-up fools."

"Life does that to you."

Maybe it was true; he'd thought so for years after losing his parents, then his brothers, and even more after losing Sarah and Adam. But maybe it wasn't true; maybe it was just a mother of a cop-out.

They slept, and woke when it was full dark, and made love again, this time, for the first time, intent on exploring each other's bodies and drawing it out until completion was exquisite. Anger was missing, and violence and pain, and even the loneliness--the one element they shared, beyond the attraction to each other's bodies--was displaced. A kind of awkward tenderness flooded in to fill the gaps. They spent a long time kissing, until Ezra's lips were red and swollen and Chris thought he'd memorized the points and valleys of Ezra's teeth and the broad muscular strength of his tongue, and the smoothness of the gold tooth had come to seem erotic.

They showered afterwards, one after the other since the tub was too small for both of them, and slid damp and warm between the blankets, the soiled sheets dumped on the floor in the corner and the scent of Ezra's shampoo mingling with the faint lingering smell of sex. Chris lay in the darkness with his hand clasped lightly around Ezra's wrist and followed the cadence of Ezra's even breathing into sleep.

:::::::

He woke as the first gray light was showing around the edges of the drapes. Ezra was lying too still and quiet beside him to be asleep, but he said nothing as Chris got up, went into the bathroom to do a sketchy wash, then dressed. When he was done, Ezra was sitting up against the headboard and the room was light enough to see his intent face. His chest looked pale and smooth as the inside of a shell. Chris sat down on the bed and studied him.

"I have to get going. Morning chores to do."

"Ah, yes, the exciting life of a rancher." The wryness in Ezra's voice was tempered with gentle humor.

Chris smiled. "Not the life for everyone, but it's what I was brought up to and it suits me fine."

He took Ezra's hand and closed his fingers around it. Ezra had almost no calluses. Even Sarah's smaller, more delicate hands had had calluses, but she grew up a farmer's daughter and became a rancher's wife. Physical chores were a part of her daily life just as she was a natural part of the rhythm of this rural community. He looked at the twining of his tanned fingers with Ezra's paler ones.

"You ready to go home now, Ezra?"

"Home?" Ezra's thumb moved over his knuckles. "Depends how you define 'home,' I imagine." He lifted his eyes and stared until Chris met his gaze. "Is there a reason for me to stay?"

Chris snorted, but kept his touch gentle. "Hell, you know the answer to that. You don't belong here, not long term. Nothing'll last. The most we'd manage would be a few days."

He flicked his eyes away as Ezra's somberness fell away into a shit-eating grin. Ezra squeezed his hand, then let go and dropped his hand to scratch with sensuous deliberation, the freaking tease, at his stomach just above his blanket-covered groin. The blanket shifted down and dark hair peeped out. "Well, Mr. Larabee, I do believe that's the sweetest invitation I've ever been issued."

"It's an invitation to disaster!" He stood up and looked down at the provocative man grinning up at him. "A week, Ezra. We'll be lucky if we get that long without anyone noticing, and if anyone sees us together, word'll get back to the ranch like it's got wings." He sighed and repeated, "A week, tops. That's the most I dare risk. A week out of a lifetime's not worth much. The loneliness'll just be worse when it's over."

Ezra sobered for a moment, then gave him a gold-studded smile. "But not for the next week."

Ezra got out of the bed, all lithe muscle and smooth skin exuding sleep warmth as he stepped close to Chris. Chris looked down at him, amused, and saw an answering gleam in Ezra's eyes. Chris took a step backwards and put his hands up in front of himself.

"I'm _leaving_. Buck'll have my balls if I don't get home soon."

"But you'll be back." It wasn't a question, but Ezra's stillness had tension in it.

"You're a fruitcake and I'm even nuttier--but, yeah, I'll see you tonight."

:::::::

"So, who's the lucky gal, Chris? And where'd you meet her, anyway?"

Chris loved Buck's dependable affability. He loved the support Buck had always given him, through the bad times and the good. He even loved Buck's interest in his private life, irritating as it was, because he knew it stemmed from Buck's honest-to-God desire for Chris to be happy, the way he'd been with Sarah, or as near as possible given that a man was lucky to find a single woman like Sarah and couldn't expect two in a lifetime. No surprise that Buck had phoned around looking for him when he didn't get home the evening before; Buck had his own deep-seated insecurities from the loss of their parents and then Sarah and the boy. Buck knew--which meant the whole family knew--he didn't spend the night with Lydia or one of the other girls who worked at Wickes'.

He loved Buck and he hated lying to him, even though it wasn't any of his damned business.

"Just someone passing through town. Be gone soon, so don't go blowing things up out of proportion."

"Anthropology student from the U of Seattle? Come here to look at the petroglyphs?"

"No."

"Wildlife photographer?"

"For Christ's sake, let's finish up the mucking out, huh? And you could do your share of it, by the way."

"Hell, stud, I did my share while you were still lazing in bed. Or _not_ lazing." Buck's eyebrows did a lewd little dance.

Chris surrendered to Buck in a playful mood and threatened him with the manure-coated pitchfork, which led to a brief mock battle before they put their backs companionably into the work side by side. Of course, he had to endure more than Buck's cheerful teasing when he emerged from his room before dinner with his hair damp from the shower and wearing crisp fresh jeans and a black-and-white shirt with a black vest over, but the lot of them sent him off for the night with affectionate good will.

He felt like a clod of dirt, but he couldn't see how any of them could be hurt by what they didn't know. It'd be over in a few days; Ezra would be gone, wiped out of their lives as though he'd never, briefly, been part of them. JD had even thrown out the pictures he'd taken of Ezra around the ranch or with the rest of them, and none of them had had any urge to stop him.

Chris figured it would be best if he had no reminders of Ezra, either, other than the fading memory of the feel of his skin and his hard cock, his scent and touch and provocative voice.

He did his best to store up those memories over the next days. Apart from the physical satisfaction he found as they took the time to pleasure each other uninhibitedly, he discovered he and Ezra could talk on virtually any topic, and enjoy a vigorous debate even when they disagreed. The only topic Ezra wasn't forthcoming about was his childhood and mother, but Chris had no particular desire to tread that painful ground, anyway. Ezra's wicked sense of the absurd and his verbal caricatures of various townspeople was far more entertaining for them both.

During the fourth night of their designated one week, after they'd talked and laughed and made slow, languorous love, Chris lay sleepily in the dark with a contentment he thought gone from him forever humming along his nerves. He closed his eyes, shifted his leg over until his thigh rested against Ezra's, and slid into sleep.

:::::::

He finished a gentle work-out with a promising four-year-old the following morning and turned to see Vin leaning on the fence watching. He nodded and Vin nodded back with a smile as Chris left the corral.

"He looks like he's shaping up good."

"Yup, I think we got ourselves the makings of a dependable mount. His grandsire was the last stud Dad bought." He watched the youngster with approval, then bumped his shoulder against Vin's. "Imported him from Texas, from a guy Dad knew down there he met during the War when he was stationed in Guadalcanal. He gave Dad a good price, owed him some old favor or other."

"Maybe your dad saved his life." Vin spoke absently, his attention on the colt kicking up his heels at the other side of the paddock.

Chris twitched at the "your," but kept his reaction hidden. "Dad never would talk about the War other than to say it was hot, dirty, and terrifying, so, yeah, who knows."

He turned toward the house and Vin fell into step beside him. Vin was silent as ever, but seemed more preoccupied than usual.

"You're looking serious. Something up?"

Vin sighed and glanced up at him. "Yeah, I got something I need to say. Reckoned I'd do it at supper, before you go out, so everybody can hear."

Chris's heart clenched with sudden fear. He'd thought Vin was contented here, especially with their plans for the trails, but he couldn't dispel a nagging worry always hovering in the back of his mind that Vin might get homesick or bored and want to leave. Steeling himself, he opted for the direct route.

"You like it here, Vin?"

"Hell, yeah." Vin frowned at him. "Why'd you ask that?"

He shrugged, trying for a casual air. "I don't know. It's just that this kind of life doesn't suit everybody, not by a long shot, especially when you're not raised to it. And we're a long way from Texas."

Vin's long, rippled hair caught the light and gleamed as he shook his head. "I've had a lot of happy times in my life, overall, but I reckon, since my mom died, I ain't never been happier than I am here. And while I really liked living on the reservation with Grandma and Pop, I didn't realize what it felt like to really have a home till I got here." He huffed a laugh. "Pretty weird since I still can't remember nothing about this place except those damn bits of glass."

Chris's heart took up its regular beat again. "Not surprising, I guess; you were pretty young."

The smile fell away from Vin again and his eyes took on a distant look. "Yeah, I reckon a couple of years or so makes a big difference."

Chris was puzzled, but let it go, having secured the only reassurance he cared about. He couldn't think anything else Vin had to tell them was going to matter all that much. He sank into thoughts of his upcoming evening with Ezra, shying away from the insidious little voice in his head that reminded him he had only three left of the seven days he'd allotted them, and the thorn of pain that came with the reminder.

He showered and dressed in clean black jeans and a plum-colored shirt Ezra liked and slicked his hair back. Ezra was expecting him at eight; it was easier for them to get dinner separately since they couldn't go out of the motel together. So he made the salad for dinner and sat down with his brothers and endured Buck's usual attempt to wheedle him into bringing his secret woman home and letting them meet her.

"That'd scare her off, I bet," JD laughed, which launched Buck into a defense of the proven charm of the Larabee clan _en masse_ and individually.

Chris half-listened to the familiar banter while the other part of his brain was in a drab room at the Gem. Then, in a lull in the conversation as they were finishing their meal, Vin spoke.

"Reckon I better get this said now, before Chris goes out. It ain't an easy thing to say, but I figure you've all got a right to know." He pushed his plate away and leaned back. His eyes roved between them.

The hairs on the back of Chris's neck prickled.

"I hope I ain't wrong in thinking you'd all want to know." Vin's voice lacked its usual quiet confidence, and his eyes were troubled. "Shit, I guess I better just say it. Ezra lied to us. Things weren't the way he said."

A deep silence greeted his words, then Josiah looked at Vin with a puzzled frown. "Well, we knew he lied, Vin. He told us as much."

"Yeah, but that's what he lied about."

"He lied about lying to us?" JD's tentative question grated on Chris's suddenly taut nerves.

He pinned his eyes on Vin. "_What_ did he lie about?"

Vin looked at him and gave a helpless shrug. "He lied about not being our brother."

Chris's hearing faded as a clamor rose around him. He grabbed hold of his panic with both hands and held himself still. He raised his voice above whatever the others were babbling. It came out a low growl in his own ears. "How do you know?"

Silence fell. Vin looked around the table, then met Chris's eyes. "A lead that seemed to go nowhere when I looked for him before come through a few days ago; I got a message in the mail. I followed it up, called a friend I used to work with sometimes when I was bounty hunting and got him to look into things since he's down in Texas and still works the south, so he has contacts around."

He stood up and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a paper and unfolded it on the table. Chris could see it was the death certificate for their brother Ezra. His hands clenched.

"It's a fake. There ain't no official registration of this death, there weren't no death certificate ever issued. The doctor's name is a fake, too." Vin put his finger on the doctor's name. "Kind of sloppy, for a professional con man, but maybe he was in a hurry, or maybe he didn't think we'd look very close."

"Professional?" Buck's voice was hard as granite.

"He's been arrested a few times, but never actually convicted of nothing."

"Arrested for what?" JD's voice was small.

Vin's eyes flicked to JD. "Attempted fraud, impersonating a minister, illegal gambling. He's had arrests in Atlantic City, Reno, and New Orleans. He's real good at getting out of the charges, though, so he could be as good at getting away without getting caught other times or doing other things."

They all fell silent. Chris could focus on only one thing. "We already knew he was a liar and a cheat. That doesn't mean he's our brother."

Because Ezra couldn't be his brother. It was unthinkable. Whatever shady doings Ezra had got up to--and he had no problem believing Ezra had lied his way through a lot of his life--there was just no way he could be his brother.

His hands were sweaty. He unclenched them and wiped them on his thighs under the table.

"There ain't no record in Georgia--not in Savannah or any other town--of an Ezra Parnell Smith dying when he was six. There ain't no record of an Ezra Parnell Smith being registered in any school in Savannah. But an Ezra Parnell Standish was registered in a school there in first grade six weeks after the death certificate he give us. His mother's name was Maude. He was only in that school for three months, then there's a note about him being removed and, two months later, his school record was forwarded to a school in Atlanta."

Something was niggling at his memory, something vague, what the fuck was it-- He got up and went to the battered oak chest in the living room they used as a coffee table and stored the photo albums in. He tossed from off the top of it Josiah's book, an empty beer bottle, the TV Guide, a Sports Illustrated, and a broken bridle. He pulled up the lid and dug down to the older albums, the ones his stepmothers had kept, each in turn. He pulled out the last album, the one with the green leather cover, and flipped frantically through the pages.

"Chris?"

He ignored Buck; ignored them all, aware of them in his peripheral vision, all five of them gathered in a half-circle watching him. He paused at a page near the back of the album. He put the album on the chest and spun it around to face his brothers, stabbing his finger on the picture of a five-year-old Ezra with his arm in a sling.

He looked between Josiah and Buck. "Remember this?"

They craned their heads to see. Josiah nodded. "Yeah, he fell. In the barn, I think it was. It wasn't long after Buddy died and Ezra went through a clumsy period when he kept tripping over his feet and any and everything that got in his way; only time in his life he wasn't graceful and sure on his feet."

"I remember that." Buck frowned and got a faraway look. "He fell against a stall and a nail tore his shoulder open. It wasn't bad, but it bled a lot and he had to have a tetanus shot. The sling was more because his arm was sore than his shoulder."

"A round puncture that took five stitches." Chris's hands shook as he stared down at the sad little face above the stark white sling; snapshot of a child a few weeks after his puppy died, a few months before he'd lose his parents. A cut on his shoulder that would leave a small, star-shaped scar.

He pulled the picture free, slammed the album closed, and stood up. He strode to the door, grabbing the truck's keys from the dish on the hallway table as he passed.

"Chris? Where the hell are you going? Chris!"

He strode outside and down the stairs and jogged to the truck. He drove away from the house, ignoring Buck's calls. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw his brothers clustered at the front of the house, then he was turning the truck toward town and his thoughts coalesced on one target.

Ezra smiled warmly when he opened the door to his knock. Chris stepped inside to get space and punched Ezra in the jaw before the door had swung completely shut at his back. Ezra sprawled on the floor and dragged himself back to lean against the end of the bed, holding his jaw. He stared up at Chris with fathomless eyes.

"You goddamned lying fuck."

He flung the photograph at Ezra. It fluttered in slow motion through the air and fell beside his sprawled legs. Ezra picked it up and glanced at it, then looked back up at Chris.

"So you did remember, after all. I thought you'd completely forgotten when you asked about the scar."

"You made up the death certificate; lied about the whole thing. Vin found out. That--" he waved a hand at the photograph Ezra was still holding "--is just verification. I didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe you were really this sick." His throat closed up and he swallowed. "I couldn't believe you'd do this to me."

Ezra blinked hard, then pushed himself to his feet with a hand on the bed. The fair skin on the side of his jaw was red and his teeth had cut the corner of his mouth so it bled a little. He wiped the blood away with his thumb, but his eyes didn't budge from Chris.

He stared at Ezra's too familiar face--_throwback eyes_\--and had to blink hard himself to clear the red veil of fury and hurt. Confusion almost overwhelmed the other emotions. "Why, Ezra? Why would you do this to me? What the hell could make you hate me this much?"

Ezra flinched and his eyes closed momentarily, but then he was looking at Chris again with a heated gaze of his own and his voice had the jagged edge of splintered glass. "You let them take us away. You didn't lift a finger to stop them. You let strangers take Sammy away even though he was just a helpless baby. You let them take Nathan, and he was almost grown up and didn't want to go. You didn't even stop them from taking Vin despite him screaming and begging you."

Only their breathing sounded in the room for long moments. Ezra's voice dropped almost to a whisper, like flint shavings cutting the air. "And you told me you loved me, but you let them take me away, too."

Ezra stared at him with eyes too evocative of the past and Chris wanted to hit him again for tainting his memory of his little brother, for making everything he'd had left of his lost brother dirty. His hands were trembling, minute tremors running up his arms, and he felt sick at the tactile memory of touching Ezra. He closed his eyes for a moment, then snapped them open and looked straight into Ezra's stony ones. He suddenly found he didn't have another thing to say.

He turned on his heel and yanked the door open. He heard it close behind him as he clattered down the stairs, then he was sliding into the truck's familiar old interior and his hands squeezed the plastic steering wheel until they stopped shaking and he could drive. He viciously fought down the nausea that surged when his hands lit up ghostly pale on the wheel as he passed under one street light after another and made him see his fingers sliding over Ezra's smooth white skin, banding around Ezra's shiny, flushed cock. When he reached the outskirts of town and the lights spread far apart with masking darkness for long stretches between, his stomach settled and he was able to put the worst of the images out of his head.

Even so, his stomach clenched when he approached the turn-off to the house and he drove right by it, kept driving in the darkness on the quiet road like he didn't have a place to go. It was anger, again, finally, that steeled him and he turned into the Conklins' driveway to turn around and made his way home. Ezra didn't have the power to taint the family he had. He wouldn't grant Ezra any such power.

The house was quiet when he went in, all the lights off except in the living room. They were all there, sitting with coffee and beers, with expressions ranging from glum to angry. It was quiet, no TV, no stereo. The photo albums had been returned to the chest and the quilt, brought home by Nathan's mother from a farm sale years ago, crookedly covered it. Josiah was reading, Vin and JD were poring over a map spread out on the floor, and Buck was sprawled on the couch with his legs on the chest, just staring into space. Chris took them in for a second as he padded quietly to the doorway in his stocking feet before they noticed him.

Vin stood up. "You all right?"

He looked at Vin: his half-brother, Ezra's full brother. How could two people who came from the same parents be so different that it was as though nothing about them were connected at all? He searched Vin's face for a hint of the tangled anger and hurt he'd seen in Ezra's, but found nothing but open honesty and worry for him. He could feel the concern wrapping around him as the rest of his family stood up and gathered around as well, but he kept his eyes on Vin's face. He could see the child Vin's face red with exhaustion and screaming and fear, could feel Vin's small hands clinging to him even as he let the social workers pull Vin away from him. He looked away, down to the floor, and tried to steady his breathing.

"Chris?" Vin stepped close enough for him to feel the warmth of his body.

"Something wrong, Chris?" Josiah put a strong hand on his shoulder.

He managed to get his voice under control. "No, I'm fine. Sorry. I just...." He closed his eyes, but popped them open when Buck lifted his right hand. Buck looked at his knuckles, his big hand warm against Chris's skin.

"Maybe the question is, how's Ezra?"

He pulled his hand away, glancing at it. The knuckles were bruising, but only a little. The bruising on the soft tissue of Ezra's jaw would be heavier.

"Ezra?" JD looked between him and Buck. "You went to see Ezra? I thought you'd gone to see your date."

"God." Chris laughed, which made the rest of them stare at him. He scrubbed a hand over his face and steadied himself. He held his hand in front of him and flexed it, watching the reddened flesh move.

JD spoke hesitantly. "Did he say why he lied?"

Chris looked at his youthful, frowning face, then back at Vin's barely older, but far more mature, one. Vin was studying him with his head cocked on one side with a way too penetrating look. Chris looked back to the safety of JD's bewildered anxiety.

"He's angry because we let him be adopted and he wanted to hurt us."

It sounded as whacked-out now as it had when Ezra had said it, and he felt no desire to laugh, now, just a profound tiredness and sadness and a fury of his own for what Ezra had done to him.

Buck spoke after a long silence. "That's...pretty fucked up."

Chris snorted. "Yeah, I think that sums him up." After another brief silence, he said, "Look, I'm beat. I'm gonna call it a night."

"But is he leaving?"

"I don't know, JD. How the hell should I know what the damned fruitcake is going to do?"

"Easy, pard, the kid was only asking. I think we'll all be able to get on with our lives better once the bastard's gone for good."

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, JD." He really needed to get to bed. His eyes were aching with the pounding in his head and he had an accelerating desire to plunge his fist through the wall. Vin was still watching him with that quiet intensity of his and it was making Chris's back creep with the thought Vin might see the taint on him.

"Josiah and I could go into town and talk to him tomorrow." Buck looked at Josiah, who considered for a moment, then nodded.

"You mean, tell him to go away and not come back?" JD stared between them.

"Josiah and I'll just suggest in a powerful way he'll be happier elsewhere."

Buck was angry in the way only hurt directed at any of his family could aggravate him. Ezra had put himself outside that circle of protection when he'd rejected everything else they'd offered him. Chris thought of intervening, but the impulse died in an instant; never seeing Ezra again sounded like the best option.

But JD was shaking his head, thick dark hair shining as it caught the light. "If you send him away, we'll never see him again. Maybe if we try to talk to him, invite him out here, he'd get over his anger and--"

"Jesus Christ, JD, the bastard screwed us over and spit in our faces! He admitted as much, and then he lied to us again. Why the hell would you want him ever to come out here again?"

"Buck, calm down. He's only making a suggestion."

Buck shrugged off Josiah's hand and flopped down on the couch. He raked a hand through his hair and stared up at them. "You can't seriously want this guy around! Josiah?"

Josiah shrugged. "Families come in all sorts, Buck. You don't get to choose what kids you'll get or what your parents are like, and you sure don't get to choose who your brothers are."

"Fine, he's our brother. He can be our brother on the other side of the country! It doesn't mean we have to see him or have anything to do with him."

"But--" JD bit his lip and fell silent.

"What, for God's sake?"

JD looked at Buck. "He's been hanging around for days without leaving. Maybe it's because he really actually wants to be with us and he's just, I don't know, confused or something. I mean, it didn't seem like he had much family except his mom and she didn't sound like she was--" he shrugged and his voice dropped to a whisper "--much like my mom was."

Buck shook his head. He was slumped into the couch with his long body exuding all the tiredness that was creeping over Chris like a drowning tide. "Fine. You want to come with us tomorrow and try to talk to him before we tell him to go the fuck away, it's a free country."

Thinking of Ezra possibly coming out here again made him feel as crazy as he'd felt in the Gem earlier. JD, however, was nodding with a purposeful light in his eyes. Chris narrowed his eyes against a spike of pain and tried to ignore Vin's unwavering gaze. He stood up.

"I'm going to bed."

He headed for the bedroom hallway, but stopped and turned, unable to leave without making at least a bid to stave off disaster.

"I don't think it's a good idea to have him out here." He said the words quietly, hoping to avoid any more confrontation tonight, trying to sound reasonable and calm; though, judging by the stubborn set of JD's chin, it was probably a lost cause. "He had his chance before, he knew what we were offering, and he didn't want any of it. He didn't want us. He's not stupid--" _just a fucking asshole_ "--and he knew what he was doing."

JD started to say something, and Chris raised his voice to speak over him, "He's an adult, JD, at least what passes for one with him. And he's screwed us over once. Even if you talked him into coming out here again, he could just do the same again--except, next time, he might leave with the cash as well." He could hear the bitterness bleeding through in his voice, and rubbed his forehead, avoiding all the watching eyes. He shrugged. "Hell, do what you want. See you in the morning."

He left, grateful to reach the quiet darkness of his room in the addition, far enough away from the living room that he couldn't hear even a murmur of voices. When he was lying in bed an hour later, however, with his head still pounding and seemingly every muscle in his body tense, the silence became oppressive, like a weight pressing on his chest. The thought of seeing Ezra out here again made his gut churn, and he wasn't any more comfortable with the idea of JD trying to get close to Ezra. He was pretty sure none of the others would ever let JD go alone to see Ezra, and he didn't seriously believe Ezra would try any...tricks on JD, but it would be entirely better if JD just never went near him again.

Entirely better if Ezra disappeared off the face of the planet and none of them ever heard a peep from him again.

He closed his eyes and turned onto his side, pulling his legs up. He tried to relax his muscles enough to sleep, but he kept seeing Ezra's eyes in the darkness behind his lids. Ezra's eyes as a child and Ezra's eyes as they were now, sending waves of hurt and accusation and pain crashing over him. It was madness; Ezra was mad. He wasn't a child. People were adopted all the time without being warped for life. Vin and JD were both blessedly normal and well-adjusted, even though everything in their lives hadn't been easy by any means.

He wondered if Ezra would have grown up with some kind of mental weakness if their parents hadn't died and he'd stayed here. Maybe there was some flaw in him, something inherent in his nature destined to go wonky. He'd have been their fucked-up family secret, the skeleton in their collective closet....

Chris rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, turning his head to stare out the bare window with bitterness tainting his mouth. If Ezra was their fucked-up skeleton, he'd managed to drag Chris along with him, gotten him up there hanging alongside him. Which, he supposed, must have been Ezra's plan all along, for whatever screwy reason he'd had.

He cocked his head as a sound in the hall outside his door reached his ears. Quiet footsteps paused for a moment, then Vin's door opened and as quietly shut. Silence descended again, stifling as a blanket over his head. Minutes ticked past at an excruciatingly slow pace as the moon rose and its rays lit the window through its measured passage low in the sky.

Seven brothers. It had a fairytale magical cast to it. He could remember his father's beaming delight when JD was born: seven sons, seven Larabee brothers. His stepmother had hoped just a little for a girl, and he was sure his father would have doted on a daughter along with the rest of them on a baby sister, but seven sons! The magical number, good luck for all their lives.

Ezra had managed to taint that, too, in proposing the name for the ranch. It had seemed at the time like a celebration of their reunion, of their being seven again--_los siete hermanos_, as Buck in his high-school Spanish phase had called them--and all along Ezra was using it to set them up for an eventual slap in the face.

All Ezra seemed capable of was hurting.

Chris twisted onto his side and savagely pounded his flattened pillow into shape. The moonlight coming in the window faded and left him in near complete darkness and still he lay awake with a clutter of memories he didn't want to keep seeing: of little brothers and laughter and tears. Of finding grown up brothers and feeling complete again for the first time in twenty years. Of fury tapering off into the glide of smooth naked skin and the heat of sexual friction, and a Southern drawl wrapping around him and making a new reality, but one tinged with the bittersweetness of foreknown brevity.

He'd fucked Ezra and he'd held him when the sex was done and he'd kissed him, tasting himself in Ezra's mouth, tasting a yearning he'd tried to deny matched his own. He'd refused to dwell on the inevitability of losing Ezra soon, or on how he'd miss him, miss the strength in his elegant hands, his sardonic clever wit, and the surging passion in him that matched Chris's own hunger. He'd concentrated on taking as much of the good as he could from their encounters before Ezra left.

But even that furtive good was false, another of Ezra's manipulations. He realized all at once a new truth, and lay with it bitter in his mouth as he rolled onto his back and put his arm over his aching, tired eyes.

The lump in his gut was as leaden when the darkness in his room lightened to gray and he got up. He dressed mechanically and slipped noiselessly out of his room, past Vin's door, and through the kitchen to the back door. He paused for a moment on the stoop to listen to the quiet, then closed the door and locked it, leaving the haven of his sleeping family. The truck was loud in the half-light and might wake one or more of them, but he got away without having to see any of them first.

He stopped at the 7-Eleven to get a coffee to go and drank it as he completed the drive to the Gem. He arrived just as the sun was cresting the mountains, staining the sky with horizontal streaks of burnished gold. He parked facing east and contemplated the rising of a new day as he finished the coffee, then got out of the truck, crumpling the Styrofoam cup and tossing it into a garbage can before taking the stairs two at a time.

Ezra pulled the curtain aside and looked out at him for a long moment before opening the door. When Chris went in, Ezra had moved all the way across the room and was pulling his pants on over his boxers. He was bare-chested, standing next to the bed, which looked like a mini-hurricane had hit it, and his thick hair was rumpled. In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, his pale skin gleamed. Chris's stomach lurched as he stared at the fine body that was familiar to him in ways it never should have been in a sane world. Ezra paused after fastening his slacks, standing motionless with bare feet wide set under Chris's scrutiny and making no move to cover his chest. Chris lifted his gaze to Ezra's face.

"You meant to do exactly this to me all along, didn't you? You did it all intending me to find out. If Vin hadn't discovered the truth, what were you going to do? Tell me yourself? Taunt me with it before you left?"

Ezra stared at him from across the room, his eyes showing only a narrow ring of green around the dilated pupils. He looked as wiped out as Chris felt. The mottled bruising along Ezra's jaw matched the darkness under his eyes and made him look older and wearier and more fragile than Chris had ever expected to see him. He'd figured on Ezra's being gone from his life for good in a couple of days and leaving him with a memory of youthful vigor and attractiveness that would linger in his mind with an almost plastic untouchability, never altering, just slowly over the years fading from his memory. Now he had an unwanted glimpse of Ezra older and wearier to place beside the ones of him as a child and the ones of him as a vital, self-contained young man in the throes of sex.

Moments of silence stretched as they looked at each other. Chris shook his head when it was clear Ezra wasn't going to speak. It didn't matter now; nothing the fuck mattered.

"I want you to leave. Today. You've done whatever you had in your screwed-up head to do--hurt me, fucked me up, whatever you hoped for, congratulations, you made it--and there's nothing left to stay here for. Just...go."

He didn't think Ezra was going to say anything and he turned to leave. He had the answer he'd needed in Ezra's silence. He paused with his hand reaching for the doorknob when Ezra spoke behind him in a voice that was almost conversational, except for the tamped passion that roiled beneath the calm surface of it.

"Vin never stopped screaming, you know, when they took us away. They took both of us to some place, some building, together. A large building with what seemed to me like a great many children. I don't know what it was; an orphanage, perhaps, or a big group home. I don't even know where it was. It was a long drive, so perhaps it was in Seattle. And when I reached there at the same time as the car Vin was in, somebody carried Vin in and he was still screaming for you. He screamed and screamed, and he wouldn't stop. Sometimes he screamed for our parents, sometimes for Josiah or Buck; even Nathan once in awhile. But mostly he screamed for you. He screamed so much, they put him in a little room down the corridor by himself. It was a tiny room, a closet perhaps, just big enough for a crib. Even with the door shut, though, I could still hear him. I got out of my bed and went down the corridor to his room and got into the crib with him. I took Bojo with me. You remember Bojo, Chris?"

Chris set his jaw. He kept his back turned, his eyes on the battered Do Not Disturb sign hanging crookedly from the doorknob.

"Well, of course you do. The big, worn old bear with the fur chewed off his ears and nose that was first Josiah's, then yours before you passed it on to Buck, and he to Nathan, and Nathan to me. Somehow, I never got around to passing it on to Vin, which I suppose I was meant to do to keep up the family tradition. But I took him with me when I climbed into Vin's crib and I put Bojo between us so we could both hold onto him. It didn't make Vin stop screaming for you, except when he cried himself to sleep, but it made me feel better.

"They came and took me away, though. I told them I needed to stay to look after my brother and they said he wasn't my brother anymore, that I didn't have any brothers. They put me and Bojo back in a bed in the dormitory with a bunch of other kids and I could hear when Vin woke up and started screaming. And when I went back, they took me away again, over and over. Then one day, when I woke up from a nap, I couldn't hear Vin anymore. I went down to the closet and his crib was still there, but it was empty. When I asked where he was, they said Vin had gone home with his new mommy and daddy. I asked why they hadn't taken me, too, because Vin was my brother and they said he wasn't, not anymore, and that I'd get my own mommy and daddy soon. I'd wanted Vin to stop screaming, but when he was gone, there was just this awful silence. And then my mother came and they said I belonged to her now and I had to go with her."

Chris swallowed and closed his eyes, close to feeling hate himself, now, for Ezra for drawing too fucking vivid pictures. "There wasn't anything we could do. You think we liked letting you go? We did everything we could to talk them into letting us keep you. They wouldn't even let us keep Nathan even though he was old enough to stay by himself after school without a babysitter; they barely let us keep Buck even though he was almost eighteen. There was no way in hell they were going to let us keep a baby and the two of you."

Ezra's voice shed all its tight control. "You could have taken us away! You could have put us in the truck and gone somewhere instead of letting them take us!"

Chris swung around to stare at him, incredulous. "Take you where? Where the hell do you think we could have gone?"

"Anywhere! To the city, to Seattle or Portland, get lost in the crowds, or out of the state. Or even over the border to Canada, like the scores of draft dodgers. You could have taken us somewhere and kept us together. But you didn't care enough to even try."

"Jesus Christ, Ezra." He ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe that seemed like a good idea when you were six, but you have to know it could never have worked. I was _nineteen_, for Christ's sake! Josiah was twenty-three. Without the ranch, we didn't have any place to live and no way to make money unless we got jobs. How the hell do you think we could have made enough money, even if Buck also got a job, to support all five of you? Who'd have looked after you while we were working? How would we have got Buck into school so he could graduate without any school records? How could we have got you and Nathan into school without answering endless questions, like where were your parents and how did we get custody of you and why is Nathan black? And what the fuck do you think we knew about raising a baby and two little kids as well as a young teenager?"

He stared into eyes that were too luminous and saw imposed over them the child's version of those eyes as he'd last seen them, great green eyes bleeding hurt. He took an involuntary step forward before stopping himself with a jerky motion, but he couldn't rid himself of the idea of nineteen years of hurt that went beyond a child's memory of abandonment.

"Was it really that bad? Did your mother treat you so badly?"

Ezra flinched, but didn't look away. "My mother is an accomplished and charming woman. She can convince a sailor his most fervent wish in life is a plot of land in the middle of the Grand Canyon; can make an aging, pot-bellied cynic believe he's found in her the fountain of youth. It was a simple matter for her to present herself to Family Services as a warm and loving, but sadly barren, woman pining for a child on which to lavish her boundless money and love. In truth, she wanted a child for its usefulness rather than desiring to be a parent per se, but she took my hand when we left the room after she signed the papers. Her hand was very soft to hold and she smelled like magnolias and her voice was warm with the accent of her Savannah roots, which sounded exotic to me then. I was carrying Bojo in my other arm, tight as I could. When we stepped onto the sidewalk outside the building, heading for a rented Daimler parked nearby, she paused to take Bojo from me and dropped him in a garbage receptacle on the street. Her husband added the little suitcase Josiah had packed for me, which squashed Bojo down out of sight, then she led me to the car. She said I was too old to be dragging around a filthy, worn-out old bear and she'd buy me everything else I needed."

His mouth had a wry twist. "But she is an extraordinary woman and she loves me, in her own way, and didn't mistreat me, by her lights."

Chris took a steadying breath and pushed away the anger that had risen with the thought of his little brother on that far away day. One of them holding onto hurt for almost twenty years had caused enough damage.

And he thought it might be time to declare his little brother truly dead and gone.

Against all good sense, he made one last try to understand. "Then why, Ezra? Why do you hate me after all this time? Why _me_? Why not Josiah?"

Ezra met his stare with a weary calm. "For years, I'd wake at night thinking I heard Vin screaming for you and I'd know you'd never answer him. I used to think of him somewhere with his new mother and father, somewhere like I was so far from home you wouldn't even hear if I screamed. But I knew it didn't matter because even if you heard me, you wouldn't care. Because if you'd cared, you would have taken us away no matter what the state said or Josiah said. You were always the one who acted, who made things happen, who broke the rules."

Chris made a helpless gesture with his hand. "I can't change the past. And you're not six anymore. You're not ten and you're not fifteen. It's time to get over it. You wanted to make me pay in some childish way? Fine, you've done it. For whatever it's worth, I probably hate you now as much as you hate me."

He waited to see if Ezra was going to say anything, but Ezra just blinked his eyes rapidly down to the floor and stood there, half-naked, with rumpled hair and bare feet, looking armorless. Chris turned away and closed his hand on the aluminum doorknob. He spoke without looking back.

"Leave, Ezra. You've done what you came for and I won't ever come back here."

He didn't wait for a response he doubted would come. The click of the door behind him had a sound of finality to it that should have felt like a relief, but instead only made the pain in his head spike.

:::::::

He stopped for a pack of cigarettes and had chain-smoked four of them by the time he finally rolled the truck to a stop in front of the house. The sun was well up and the work day was underway. He sat in the truck fighting a sense of unreality as he watched each of his brothers gather from different points, Josiah coming from the house, Buck from the barn, Vin from the corral, and JD emerging from the shadows at the side of the house with Mad trotting at his side, probably coming from the workshop at the rear judging by the oil-smeared cloth he was wiping his hands on.

Chris's hands were shaking, maybe from the nicotine on an empty stomach, or maybe a kind of muted, delayed shock. He stared through the bug-spotted windshield at the well-known faces, read Buck's narrowed eyes and Josiah's cocked head. He was sitting here with a cigarette dangling from his mouth having some kind of bizarre breakdown and he wasn't sure he could make his fingers let go of the steering wheel.

Vin broke the tableau. He sauntered over to the truck and pulled the door open.

"Hey." His gravelly voice was soft and wrapped familiarity around Chris, grounding him. "Everything all right?"

Chris managed to unstick his hands from the wheel. He stubbed out the cigarette in the full ashtray and swung his legs out of the truck as Vin gave way for him, but stayed close. He managed a smile and nodded, seeing cautious easefulness relax Vin's expression from outright worry to steadfast regard.

As he stepped out of the truck, the others gathered. He swept his eyes around the yard, his gaze edged with an almost painful clarity. This place was his life, was his family's strength. Through all the lousy events stretching back to the night their parents died, the ranch was the one sure thing for all of them, the place he and Josiah and Buck had worked their tails off to keep safe, the place young Nathan had lain in bed in California dreaming about returning to one day when he got old enough to make his own choices. The place Sarah had embraced as her home after her father disowned her, and a home she'd filled with love again, for him, for their son, for his brothers. The only home his son knew in his short life, and a safe and happy one.

"You're becoming a real night hawk, Chris." Buck spoke with jovial normality, but shot a look of puzzled concern over him from head to foot.

His gut clenched with tightness. If they'd lost the ranch--or given it up as Ezra, awash with childish fear and anger, had thought they should--they might still have each other, but they'd have been adrift all these years. They'd have nothing to cling to but one another, with no solid rock for their foundation. He looked across the corral to the foothills where they were about to try the wings of their latest venture, the five of them, with Nathan's support, planning and working together for a future he'd come, tentatively, to believe in again. He rubbed a thumb over the calluses on his hand that came from years of work to keep this place going, remembering the feel of his father's rough hands, and those of his stepmothers, each in turn, and Sarah, all of them hard-working ranch wives.

"Chris?"

The idea that Ezra might still believe in a shining palace built on sand washed him with anguish. He drew his eyes back to the circle of his brothers all watching him with matched concern in their mismatched eyes. Brothers of all shapes, sizes, personalities, and colors, solid and real evidence that they'd done all right. He'd lost his parents and he'd lost his wife and son and he'd lost one little brother, but he had five brothers and their ranch and they'd be all right. The rest of them were worth all the rest of the shit.

He looked at Buck and gave a firm nod, waiting while Buck studied him before letting go of his frown with a nod, his face relaxing into lines of relief. He looked at Josiah and got a head-tilted smile following a considering gaze. He turned lastly to JD.

"You still planning on going into town to see Ezra?"

JD's eyes darted to the others, then back to Chris. "Yeah, I just have to wash my hands--and, well, maybe change my pants." He glanced down at his work pants and flashed a quick grin at Chris. The kid had a damned infectious smile. "We were just waiting till you brought the truck back."

"Just couldn't stay away from her, huh, Chris?" Buck waggled his eyebrows.

Chris flinched, but kept his eyes on JD. "It'd be better to just let it go, JD. Just...let him go. He made his choice. He doesn't want to be part of this family."

"Yeah, but maybe he just doesn't know what he wants. Maybe he just needs another chance."

"He's had enough chances and he doesn't fucking well deserve your concern!"

JD blinked at his vehemence, and Chris looked down, pulling the pack of Players out of his jeans' pocket with hands that threatened to set up shaking again. He fumbled out a cigarette, struck a match, and cupped his hand to light it in the breeze. He blew out the match and dropped it to the ground, putting his boot on it as he drew in a lungful of smoke and let it out on a long breath. He licked his lips and looked at JD.

"Look, kid--"

"I thought we decided it wouldn't do any harm just to go see him and talk to him." The stubborn note in JD's voice was as familiar as the tire ruts in the yard. Every damned one of them was as stubborn as the next. They should call the ranch the _Obstinacy Bin_.

"We did." Buck's voice had an edge to it. "Something happen to change your mind since last night, Chris?"

He took another drag on the cigarette and kept his eyes on JD. By far the youngest, but no pushover. Dammit.

"JD, he's not worth it. He threw away what we offered him; he didn't want any of it. He's a fucked-up mess."

He could feel Vin's and Josiah's silences and their measuring stares like walls crowding him from either side, as pushy in their ways as Buck's and JD's noisiness.

"Yeah, but he might have changed his mind, if we just give him another chance." JD's voice was lower, but still determined.

Chris raked a hand through his hair and looked across the corral again, his eyes catching on the silken sheen of Buck's gray as the gelding trotted around the perimeter of the fence, hoofs flashing through patches of sunlight in a soothing, intricate rhythm.

"He hasn't changed his mind." He weighed the chances of any of them letting the subject drop and closed his eyes against another spike of pain in the back of his skull. He reckoned he'd be able to trace in chalk the line of tension moving from his back to his shoulders right up into his head.

He doubted his desire to keep JD away from Ezra was rational. Fucked up as he was, Ezra wasn't likely to hurt JD, and Josiah and Buck would be with JD, anyway. Wanting to keep Buck and Josiah from hassling Ezra was even less rational than his desire to shield JD from more disappointment and an unlikely attempt by Ezra to entangle the kid in something over his head.

An image formed in his head of Ezra as he last saw him, tired and rumpled and beaten-down looking. He banished it with an effort.

None of his feelings might be rational, but he wanted to keep them apart, Ezra from them and JD and his brothers from Ezra, fueled with the same intense determination he'd always had to do his utmost to protect his son.

Apart from every other motive, his stomach turned over queasily at even the vague possibility that Ezra might give in to JD's entreaties and return to the ranch.

"You went to see him this morning." Buck didn't make it a question, but his voice had a frown in it. "Why were you so set on us not seeing him that you sneaked out of here at daybreak?"

"Sneaked?" He shook his head and took a last drag on the cigarette before pinching the hot end off between his fingertips and pushing the butt into his pocket. He looked again at JD and gentled his voice, trying to make it persuasive. "We lost him twenty years ago. Even if he agreed to come back, he doesn't belong here." He closed his eyes and put a hand to the back of his neck, twisting his head before looking back at JD. "Let it go. All right?"

JD's eyes bounced between each of them like a toad on hot bricks. Chris was about to go into the house in search of coffee and aspirin when Josiah spoke in his deep-voiced, measured way. "Seems to me the question is why are you so set against him being here, Chris?"

"You know, you've been acting pretty strange this last little while." Buck leaned against the truck's fender and crossed his arms over his chest. "First there's this mystery woman you met somewhere or other that you won't tell us a word about, not even her name, and now you've got this burr up your ass over JD wanting to try to convince Ezra to come back. What is up with you? You've been looking damned happy about this woman even though you won't let us meet--"

"Jesus, Buck, there's no fucking woman."

He hadn't expected easy compliance, but it'd been worth a shot. But, hell, they deserved the truth, about both him and Ezra, not only because JD seemed unlikely to drop it and the others would back him, but most of all because family was worth fighting for, no matter what that entailed or how freaking difficult it was.

Buck straightened and dropped his arms to his sides. "What? You went out almost every damned night dressed up--"

"No woman. Not Lydia, not Maria, not any of Wickes' girls, and no newcomer to town I happened to run into. There is no fucking woman."

It didn't slow Buck down for more than a couple of blinks, then he threw up a hand. "Ah, hell, a guy? I thought you grew out of that years ago! It was freaky enough that time I saw you and Jon Petrie in the locker room."

Hell, just name the ranch the _Lunacy and Obstinacy Bin_ and be done with it. And if JD's eyes bulged out any farther, they'd be dangling out of their sockets and down his cheeks.

Chris looked back at Buck. "I can't believe you're still the hell going on about that after all these years."

"It was a pretty traumatic thing to see your big brother doing!"

"We were just jerking off, for Christ's sake."

"Yeah, but you weren't just jerking off together; you were jerking each other off. God, Chris, you were holding his dick--and you let him touch yours!"

He stared in disbelief at what passed for utter insanity even for Buck. "I was sixteen, Buck. If a gorilla had offered to pull my pud, I'd've let him. And don't try to tell me you weren't the same."

A snort from his left was Josiah; at least somebody was amused on this god-awful day. The sun shining in his eyes was killing his head, he could feel the weight of Josiah's and Vin's steady gazes, JD was shifting in place from foot to foot like a manic rabbit and might still be determined to try to get Ezra to stay. And Ezra--

Ezra was the wild card on the fringes of his life and no way to predict what he might do next.

"And I know you did some pretty stupid crap when you were going out with Ella, but then you met Sarah and gave up all the weird stuff, or so I thought."

He dipped his head and squinted away from the sun, resisting the urge to get out another cigarette he knew would only make his head hurt worse. "Look, the point is...."

His voice failed him. He looked around the circle of attentive faces and focused on JD, trying to read his intentions. Before he could think of how to say it, Vin spoke in an even voice beside him.

"This guy you been seeing got anything to do with why you don't want Ezra around here?"

Chris snapped his mouth shut and looked at Vin, who met his eyes with a straight look. Straight as an arrow, just like Vin was straight and true all the way through to his core, and he couldn't read anything but concern and understanding in Vin's face.

Buck said, in a hushed voice, "No way. Chris, for fuck's sake, tell me there's no way you did that."

"What?" JD's eyes were bopping from person to person again.

Chris had to clear his throat before he could speak. "I thought our brother was dead, Buck. Just like the bastard wanted us to think." His voice sounded raw in his ears.

Josiah's hand landing warm and heavy on his shoulder made him jump, but he settled as the large hand clasped him hard, giving him another tether alongside Vin's quiet presence close by his other side.

"Oh, my God."

He glanced at JD and met saucer-wide eyes in a face drained of color.

Buck was also pale under his tan. "Why did he do it?"

Chris licked his lips. "He's got a twisted idea I could have stopped Family Services from taking him and the others away if I'd cared enough to try."

The silence lasted a long moment broken only by the whicker of a horse in the barn, probably impatient with the disruption in his morning routine, then Buck yanked open the truck door. His voice was hard.

"Give me the keys."

Chris sighed. "Nobody's going into town to beat him up. Just leave him the hell alone and he'll go away."

Hopefully.

Ezra's tired eyes entered his mind again and he flinched. He moved away from the anchors of Josiah's and Vin's silent supportiveness and headed for the house. The chores were waiting, but he needed coffee and a shower before he could tackle anything else.

He hadn't touched Ezra at all this morning beyond the fleetingness of the punch, but he couldn't shake the feeling of being dirty.

:::::::

He spent the interminable day in Vin's company, which did more to keep him together than anything else could have. Vin also called a halt at suppertime when Chris would have kept working--doing anything to keep himself from thinking. When they returned to the ranch and put the horses away, though, his previous night's lack of sleep and the accumulated tension of the past day drenched him with exhaustion. Muscles aching, he sank onto the wooden swing on the porch as sunset drew in. He balanced his beer bottle on the arm of the swing and lit a cigarette. Muted voices came through the open kitchen window from the others cleaning up after supper, the atmosphere more subdued than usual. Josiah's deep, rumbling voice made a quiet, indistinguishable backdrop as he talked on the phone with Nathan, explaining the latest matter to do with Ezra. And Chris's own part, of course; another kid brother to jolt with surprise, though Nathan had seen him at his worst, after losing Sarah and Adam. Nothing much would probably surprise Nathan about Chris by now.

The squeak of the screen door drew his eyes from the liquid gold sunset that bookended this day with the sunrise he'd watched at its start, which seemed far longer in the past than this morning. The swing moved under Buck's weight as he folded his lanky frame onto it. He followed Chris's eyes to the sky, but, from his peripheral vision, Chris could see Buck turn his head to look at him before occupying himself with drinking from his mug of coffee. Buck rested the mug on his knee and sat quietly, making the swing sway gently under them, until the voices in the kitchen faded and the light went out and they knew the others had moved into the living room. Buck took a last swallow of his coffee and bent over to put the mug on the porch.

"Chris, I know I'm not the most delicate person--"

Chris snorted, genuinely amused, and saw in the corner of his eye a smile spread across Buck's face, wiping away the awkwardness. Buck stretched his long arms, then draped one along the back of the swing and cupped Chris's shoulder. His large hand was a spot of warmth and normality that drew out a little more of the day's tension from Chris's soul.

Buck chuckled. "Yeah, all right, point taken. At least you're used to me. We were the lucky ones--you, me, Josiah. We lost the kids, but we didn't lose each other or our home. And you and me were always especially close, even though we ain't much alike. Always managed to understand each other, though, somehow or other, even if it did take awhile sometimes."

"And a few bloody noses."

Buck's soft, deep laugh stroked along his skin. "Oh, we did have ourselves some good old scuffles, didn't we. Remember how Mom would say, while she was patching us up, that at least we always managed to come out even, one black eye or split lip each, what with you being older but me being bigger?"

Chris smiled, thinking of Nathan's mother and her warm smile, her gentle, competent hands, and, most of all, the big hug that always followed her fixing their small wounds. "Yeah. And she always put those colored Band-Aids with the stars on 'em on you because she said they needed using up and you were doing her a favor, but it was really because she knew you thought they were pretty and they made you feel special."

"And she'd put the plain ones on you because they made you feel grown-up." Buck laughed again before he fell quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was sober. "We had the best of it all the way around. We've got our memories of Dad and Mom, and the little ones' mom, too, that they don't have. We've got memories of this house full of kids tumbling over each other on Christmas mornings and on birthdays, all those damned birthdays one after another through the year, all the laughter. And the tears, too. The young 'uns didn't ever know Sarah or Adam, have no idea of the beauty it was to have them or the pain of losing them."

Chris blinked his eyes at the last glory of the day in the western sky, feeling Buck's hand on his shoulder, Buck's knee touching his, Buck's velvety voice filling his head.

"Now we've lucked out again. You and me have always been close, like Josiah and Nathan always were even with ten years between them. And now there's Vin come back to us and you and him just flow together, no scuffling needed before you get to that place where you understand each other. I see you more at peace when he's around than I ever seen you with anybody but Sarah, and I think he feels good around you, too. And there's JD, who's like a special-order kid brother for me, made to measure, not really like me, but just as easy for me to get along with, despite being so young, as Vin is for you and Nathan for Josiah. And I think JD's happy here, too. And I'm happy to have both of them. Our family feels complete at last."

His hand tightened on Chris's shoulder.

"We did things right, Chris. We muddled through somehow and we kept this place secure for all of us to come home to and we stuck together, the four of us, and we got the little ones back. One bad apple doesn't spoil the barrel."

The sun was gone. Light spilled from the living room window at the other end of the porch, cutting a swathe through the darkness, and through the open kitchen window to their right came the faint sound of the TV. A car passed on the road to town with a brief stab of headlights and the shush of tires on pavement before silence fell again, broken only by the whir of mosquitoes' wings.

He thought of Ezra's eyes and the tightness in Ezra's usually relaxed voice. He thought of the confusion of anger and longing in Ezra's touch, of the loneliness that shivered between them, and of a little boy told he didn't have any brothers anymore.

He dropped a hand onto Buck's knee and gripped it.

Buck went inside after a few more minutes of companionable silence. Chris sat alone in the dark a little longer, feet set apart on the porch making the swing sway under him, its gentle squeak reminding him of Sarah sitting out here on warm days nursing Adam and singing softly to him at a time when it seemed like life had reset itself and the future was lush with possibility.

When he went inside, the kitchen was lit only by the light on the stove. He could hear a movie on the TV in the living room, something that sounded like lasers firing, and a burst of laughter, Josiah's low rumble threaded with JD's higher tones and Vin's and Buck's lost in there somewhere. He felt a sudden aching desire for Nathan to come home, wanting, if only for a few days, to have everyone he loved under his eye.

He was reaching into the fridge for another beer when barely audible footsteps on the wood floor announced Vin's arrival. Chris looked up and held out the beer. Vin came and took it with a nod and smile and sprawled into a chair. Chris popped off the cap of his own beer and sat opposite him. He felt a lick of tension tightening the muscles across his shoulders and tried to loosen them surreptitiously as he put the cold lip of the bottle to his mouth. Vin, like all of them, probably had his own questions, and as much right as anyone to answers. Chris just wasn't sure he'd be able to explain any of it in a way that made sense; hell, it didn't make much sense to him except in the memory of touching Ezra that seemed burned into his skin.

Vin, however, held his peace for a good five minutes as they just sat quietly together and drank their beer. Chris slowly relaxed, feeling the unnatural stiffness that came from tension flow away, easing the day's toll in his muscles as well as on his emotions, all of them pulled down with tiredness.

When Chris was slumped down in the chair, his hand resting on the table loosely around the bottle, his nerves quieted, Vin at last spoke. His voice was like a sandpapery lullaby, sweet in its own way as Buck's velvety softness and Josiah's deep rumble, Vin's voice that was like no other yet already so familiar Chris sometimes forgot it'd been a part of his life for only a few months, which made him wonder each time how they'd got along without Vin and JD for all those years.

Vin said nothing about Ezra, made no mention of touchy subjects. He talked rather of the trails with quiet enthusiasm enlivening his voice that wiped away a little of Chris's exhausted apathy. Vin produced the business license from the pocket of his faded jeans and smoothed it open on the table, and Chris saw it with new eyes, saw the legal verification that _LR Wilderness Trails_ was about to become a reality. Ezra had submitted the application for the original license. When Ezra departed, Chris and Josiah had checked into it, but it had all been legit. Ezra had taken care of all the legal and licensing issues, more patient and experienced with the business end of a new enterprise than the rest of them; or, at least, already proficient, thereby saving them from having to bother. Well, that was another of the jokes on them.

When Ezra decamped, they'd changed the name to _LR_ by unanimous agreement: LR for Larabee Ranch, the name that was good enough for their father and for the rest of them all their lives. Nothing fancy or mythic or schmaltzy; a solid, workmanlike name for a group of plain joes on their working ranch, where nobody spun lies with a golden smile and honeyed drawl. Chris had resubmitted the necessary applications, bought the required injury and liability insurance in the new registered name, and took care of the rest of the business matters as he'd done for the ranch for years. Josiah and Buck both helped with the accounts when needed, but most of it fell on Chris.

Vin's raspy voice drew his attention and he studied the animated face of his second-youngest brother. The muted light softened the sharp line of Vin's jaw and the spiky evening stubble on his cheeks, making him look young, closer to his actual age than he did when the sunlight accentuated the small lines at the corners of his eyes already in place from years of living an outdoors life under a southern sun. Tonight, Vin's handsome face looked young and happy, his clear blue eyes the color of the child's he remembered, but warm with depths of emotion and understanding that belonged entirely to the man he now was.

Lucked out, Buck had said, and he was damned right.

He could have left it alone, but what Vin thought mattered. He knew Vin would never push, which somehow made him want to give what Vin would probably never ask, but might want.

He ran a finger through the condensation on his beer bottle, studying Vin's face. "You haven't said anything about Ezra."

Vin's hand flattened against the map, the finger he'd been using to trace the trail that followed Quasim Creek relaxing. He looked up and met Chris's eyes squarely. "I liked him. I reckon he's good at that--at making people like him and trust him. But even so, I figured he was--" He frowned, and looked back down at the map.

"What?"

Vin shrugged. "Guarded. Like there were parts of him he weren't ready to share yet. I thought he would when he got to trusting us better, but I guess he never did intend to share 'em." His eyes roamed over Chris's face. "Except with you, I reckon. You must have seen something more of him to come to care about him."

Chris smiled grimly. "I don't know that I cared about him."

Angry brutal sex, then gentler sex, all of it a driven seeking for some elusive connection between them. He wanted to say it wasn't anything but sex of one kind or another, but his throat closed up and he wasn't sure if it was because it was too weird to think about talking to his kid brother about having sex with his other kid brother while sitting in the freaking family kitchen or because he wasn't entirely convinced there wasn't anything but sex between them. At least on his side.

He went back to the one solid truth he'd come away with: "He was lying to me the entire time."

"Yeah."

Vin folded up the map and set it aside with the business license. The tip of his index finger stroked across the map; the nail was ragged, but his hand was clean; the hand of a worker, strong and brown and scarred, with a scab on his knuckle from a tussle with baling wire.

Vin's voice was like his hand, rough and familiar. "Can't honestly pretend, the way things've turned out, I know nothing about him, but I have to figure he had his reasons. My life weren't always the easiest after my mom died, but seems like things turned out pretty good for me and JD, all in all. I still can't remember nothing about Ezra when we were kids, but I'm guessing--" his eyes slid to Chris with a steady gaze "--there weren't nothing mean or warped about him before they took him away."

Chris shook his head to the partial question and Vin nodded like he'd known that would be the answer.

"So I guess maybe he didn't have such a great time of it, but none of it was your fault, or Josiah's. Not what happened to our parents or to us kids. And Ezra's all grown up now. Ain't no point clinging to all the bad in the past. I still miss my mom something fierce sometimes, and I know JD does, too. And you got your pain to deal with every day." His husky voice was a low, steady murmur, like callused hands holding Chris secure in a strong grip. "I liked him. I wanted to get to know him better; wanted him to be my brother. But when it's between you and him, you come first."

:::::::

Vin's quiet words echoed over the next few days, not only in Chris's head but in the way all his brothers acted toward him. Even JD never mentioned Ezra. It was as though Ezra's precipitous blowing into their lives and out again had been neatly cataloged and put away into the chest with the old photo album, the leather binder shut on the shining face of a little boy lost to them as surely as Adam. Chris in turn made the same show of having filed Ezra away into a slot separate from the rest of them, as though burying Ezra were a simple matter of saying he was dead.

Chris dealt his body exhaustion through driven work each day on the ranch, yet lay awake at nights feeling a new phantom pain aching in his gut and his spirit. It throbbed alongside the two other amputations he'd lived with for three years; they'd been slowly fading, but the new ache threw the losses of Sarah and Adam into new, harsh relief.

But Nathan came home on the following weekend and completed the family, filling in the last empty slot. The kitchen table was crowded with them, six big men sitting shoulder to shoulder, male voices ranging from tenor to bass and velvet to sandpaper enlivening the house from rafters to cellar. Nathan was finished his year's work at the university and was home for the foreseeable future. He had six week's break, then would be starting a residency at the local hospital. He'd applied for the position when he entered medical school and pestered the hospital administration on each visit home over the past few years with reminders of his desire for the position, when the time came. He was as bullish in his way as Buck could ever be, and Josiah caught Chris's eye with shared amusement and pride both. What won the day, though, Chris suspected, were Nathan's high grades and dedicated enthusiasm. The admin of the small Four Corners Hospital had to know they were damned lucky to have a resident as talented and hardworking as Nathan not only willing, but outright eager to locate there.

Nathan was blunt about Ezra. Angry on Chris's behalf and still shocked about what he termed a sordid matter, he didn't mince words, which was refreshing and scary and engagingly familiar all at the same time. Chris let the words roll over him, knowing Nathan would talk himself out of his emotional frenzy soon, and fought an errant impulse to shield Ezra from some of the fall-out. Fucking asshole that he was, Ezra wasn't the only one to blame for what went down. Chris appreciated all of his brothers' determination to ignore his part in what had happened between him and Ezra, but he was relieved when Nathan finally ran out of steam and the subject was dropped.

Ezra Standish tacitly became somebody no one in the family thought worth wasting any more time or energy thinking about.

:::::::

_LR Wilderness Trails_ had an open house for locals the Saturday before the official opening to the public on the first Monday in May. Saturday was fine and neighbors dribbled in throughout the day. Some came in family groups; the younger adults mostly in clusters of friends; and a few came alone. All were rife with curiosity; most were imbued with good will, but a few predictable ones brought narrowed, calculating gazes Chris made a point of meeting with a bland, raised eyebrow. The driveway was a crazy cloth of the parked pickups and hatchbacks of those people who didn't ride over. Vin and JD led groups to the trails while Buck and Nathan prepared mounts for those without their own, rubbing them down and resting them between jaunts, though it wasn't far or strenuous. Some of the neighbors came just for the fun of a gathering and were happy to listen to Josiah explaining how it would all work and showing them the large-scale map, and what they'd done in making the trails, without the effort of going to see for themselves. And there was food, of course, like any self-respecting open gathering, with imperishables spread on picnic tables in the back yard and items like potato salad in the kitchen fridge just inside the open back door.

Nathan had organized the food; their soon-to-be doctor was a damned fine cook in his spare time, finding it a relaxing way to wind down. He'd had dubious help from an enthusiastic if disaster-prone JD and efficient and generous help from neighbor Ms. Nettie, whose pig-tailed niece, Casey, accompanied her, carrying bags in from the back of the station wagon. Casey looked JD over with bright eyes and promptly challenged him to a knife-throwing contest in the back yard. From that auspicious start, they'd become friends. She rode her rawboned gelding over for the open house and handed it over to Buck to be used to ferry folk to the trails while she willingly applied herself to helping out wherever needed.

The weather cooperated, nobody fell off a horse or stepped on one of the youngsters tumbling about the back yard, the food was good, and most of their neighbors were supportive when they saw exactly what the venture entailed. If it caught on and attracted tourists, other farms and ranches would be making their own pitches, with produce or other offerings, to garner some of the extra money that might be drawn to the area. If it didn't work out, nobody would lose anything except the LR itself. Their neighbors were happy with a potentially win-win situation.

"I'd say the day was a success." Josiah sighed with the pleasure of the exhausted who was at last able to rest as he settled himself deeper into the couch when the day was done, the sun down, everybody gone home, and the clean up taken care of.

Buck gave a wry grin. "Yeah, they're all happy to know we'll be doing all the work and taking the chances, while they're ready to cash in if they can." He shrugged and nodded. "But it was good. Folks've been buzzing with curiosity even if most of 'em were too polite to pry."

"Most of them," Nathan agreed with his own wryness. He was sprawled in the old wooden rocker he'd always favored and everyone else found torturously uncomfortable. Its quiet rhythmic creaking as he kept it in gentle motion was Nathan's signature in his ears as Chris leaned his head back and let the mingled sounds of his brothers lap at his senses like a warm, soothing mineral pool.

"We done good," was Vin's sole contribution to the conversation.

Chris smiled at the low, rough affirmation while a welcome, if bittersweet, peacefulness loosened his muscles.

Nobody would ever mention the idea of the open house had been Ezra's. "A lot of work for no return entertaining nothing but a bunch of looky-loos," Buck had said when Ezra first broached it.

Ezra had flashed his dimples and gold tooth and gone into one of his slick spiels, his hands moving as expressively as his voice, seducing them all. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, you must have vision: look at the bigger picture. We build up good will, bring the neighbors onboard with the idea and make them feel subtly part of it, convince them we're onto a good thing, and it'll be invaluable free advertising. Gossip is as good as a billboard and a good deal cheaper!"

Chris shook away the memory of the idiosyncratic voice intruding into the familiar sounds of home and shoved himself to his feet. His brothers all looked up at him with varying degrees of drowsiness. He skimmed over the faces, pausing for a moment on each pair of eyes that ranged from palest gray to darkest brown, midnight navy to noon-sky blue, and hazel. Every color possible except one.

He cleared his throat to ensure his voice would be even. "We did do good. See you bright and early tomorrow, boys."

When he closed his bedroom door, he resolutely pushed away the darkness that pulsed in his mind as silence replaced the murmur of voices.

:::::::

The following days were hectic as they fit the new demands of the trails into the daily ranch work, but, by the end of the month, they had a working routine down pat. They took turns escorting the wilderness rides on the days when customers were booked, or, occasionally, showed up at the gate. It soon became clear that, while they'd never make a large portion of their income from it, interest was certainly there--mostly thanks to the beauty of the Cascade foothills--and it seemed increasingly possible they'd at least manage a useful supplement to the regular ranch earnings, once they got off the ground, which was better than Chris's pessimistic moments had allowed him to hope for. At the least, the extra money would provide a cushion until they started seeing a profit on the horses they were breeding.

Putting aside restless nights and visits to Wickes' that did nothing to fill the cracks, Chris figured by the end of the month his life was as back on track as he'd ever managed since losing Sarah. When, on an overcast late May afternoon, the crunch of tires on the driveway announced an arrival, he left it to one of the others to take care of the unexpected visitor. He stayed in the barn to finish rubbing down a promising four-year-old he and Nathan had brought in from the north pasture that morning to begin working with. Only Buck's raised voice drew him to look outside.

Chris stood in the barn doorway, his fingers convulsing around a rag he'd been wiping his hands on, startled into motionlessness at seeing Buck facing neither a stranger nor a neighbor, but Ezra. Nathan was standing, feet set apart and arms crossed over his chest, a little to the side and behind Buck, Josiah was leaning on a post on the porch, and Vin and JD were making their way from the corral. Chris's eye caught momentarily on the bright red shine of Ezra's LeSabre, parked a few yards down the driveway and turned to face the road, as though poised for a quick getaway. Ezra's specialty, he thought, numb. The car looked as out of place behind the dusty pickup and Nathan's practical little blue Volvo as its owner did standing elegant and composed in front of Buck and the others in their work clothes: a parakeet facing a gaggle of starlings.

"You ain't welcome here." The words were a low growl, deep with tension as obvious as the tightness Chris could see in Buck's back muscles beneath his shirt. "Get off our land."

Ezra's voice was smooth and slow as the Mississippi, as out of place as a kangaroo hopping across the yard would have been. "I have no intention of imposing on you for any length of time. If you would just inform Chr--" he paused and licked his lips, his eyes blinking down to the ground for a moment before he lifted them in a straight gaze at Buck again "--Mr. Larabee I'd like to see him for a moment--"

"There is no way in hell you are ever getting near him again."

"I won't keep him long," Ezra continued, as though Buck hadn't spoken. "I need only a moment of his time."

Buck took a step closer to Ezra and Nathan shadowed him. JD joined them, standing on Buck's other side and Josiah ambled down the stairs to the yard. Ezra's eyes, however, didn't move from Buck's face, not even a flicker of attention toward any of the others. Another of his survival skills, maybe, knowing better than to shift his focus from the major threat facing him.

"You seem to be having trouble understanding what 'no' means. Let me explain it to you." Buck's expressive voice was laced with menace.

Vin paused just outside the barn door, watching with a thoughtful look on his face and standing closer to Chris than to the others. He didn't glance at Chris, but Chris knew Vin was there for him as surely as the others were backing up Buck.

Hell, it could have been hysterically funny, looking at all that alpha warding aimed at one relatively small man in city slicker clothes that any one of them, except maybe JD, could probably knock on his ass with one hand holding a beer. If it weren't for the damned ache it raised just seeing him standing there, it really might have seemed like a fucking joke. Though it was best never to forget Ezra was likely as capable as a beaver of defending himself through guile alone against foes bigger and stronger than he was. Chris didn't doubt Ezra knew dirty tricks none of the rest of them had even thought of, and wouldn't scruple to use them to protect himself.

Instead of dulling the ache, the acknowledgement made it worse.

He took a couple of steps outside, just far enough to be visible. Ezra's eyes snapped to him immediately; he stopped talking and looked past Buck, his gaze locked with intense force even from several yards away. Chris met his stare with an even look of his own, just as unwavering. He was aware of Buck turning to look, but he held Ezra's eyes until a flash of something like pain crossed Ezra's features, so fleeting it was as though nothing had touched his stony face a moment later. Ezra licked his lips again and glanced aside. When he looked up again, it was at Buck.

"If you would then just give him--" He was pulling an envelope from his coat pocket.

"I ain't giving him nothing from you, not now, not ever. And I'm only gonna say it one more time: Get off our property before we throw you off."

Ezra shoved the envelope back into his pocket. "Gentlemen." He gave a curt nod and turned on a heel, still as straight-shouldered and composed as ever, at least in what he was showing.

Chris watched the flash car disappear down the driveway in a cloud of dust and savagely fought down a feeling of new loss.

:::::::

He woke before dawn with his dick hard and aching against his belly. While still digging himself out of the fog of sleep, he pushed his sweatpants down and closed his hand around it. He squeezed, rubbing his rough calluses against the soft skin up and down the shaft, welcoming the burn with a bitter kind of pleasure. He didn't reach for the lube to slick his way, not this time; easing and enjoyment wasn't what he was looking for. Instead, he rubbed pain along his dick, punishing and harsh. With a notching up of his anger, he found the pain, rather than taking the edge off, made him harder and he came with judders shaking his body and fury a taint like bile in his mouth.

He rolled onto his side when he'd caught his breath. He still held his cock, but loosely now, his fingers familiar warmth along its sensitized length. He rubbed the fingertips of his other hand through the come on his belly as he stared bleakly at the bare window, gray with pre-dawn light. He used to wake up hard from dreams of Sarah, used to bring himself off with the phantom sensation of her touch and sultry murmuring voice guiding him, the closest he came to a visceral memory of her these days. Her physical presence was fading in his waking memory, but he still had her in his dreams and clung to her as long as he could in his first waking.

Or he had--until Ezra invaded his dreams and drowned his memory of the scent of Sarah's white ginger bath foam with Ezra's shampoo and aftershave, obliterated the feel of Sarah's soft breasts and firm nipples pressing against him and her legs wrapping around him with the sensation of Ezra's muscled chest and broad thighs. Instead of her soft hand exciting him and leading him to her damp vagina, Ezra's larger hands and rougher grip and the poke of his cock against Chris's hip or belly or ass was the memory that jolted him awake with an erection and a tangle of pain and pleasure he wanted no part of, but couldn't find a way to escape.

:::::::

Going inside to wash his hands after hosing down the stalls two days later, Chris found a notice in the mail for a registered letter he'd have to go to the Post Office to sign for. Assuming it was something to do with the ranch, he changed his shirt and took the truck into town. The others were working in different areas around the property and would be heading home for supper soon, but he made it to the P.O. a quarter of an hour before it closed. He glanced at the envelope when he'd signed for it and a cold finger seemed to slide up his back, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

He leaned against the stucco wall outside the double doors of the P.O. and looked again at Ezra's name inked neatly into the Sender's portion of the label, though minus an address, then tore off the end of the envelope and shook out the lone paper inside.

:::::::

Ezra's LeSabre was a shiny beacon in the Gem's parking lot. Chris parked next to it, slammed the truck door, and took the steps two at a time. As soon as the door started its swing open, Chris slammed both hands into it and pushed inside the room. All he saw through the red wash over his eyes was the blur of Ezra's pale face and wide eyes as he stumbled back. Ezra immediately recovered, however, and composed himself, standing firm in the middle of the room with his usual square-shouldered, watchful stance. The stony look on his smooth face, giving away nothing, ratcheted Chris's fury up another notch. He put a hand on Ezra's chest and shoved him back a step, then another. He stood close enough to hear Ezra's controlled breathing and saw Ezra's nostrils flare, the only indication of emotion in his stillness as Ezra looked up at him with eyes blank as mirrors. It made Chris want to hit him, want to shatter the damned glass bubble Ezra wrapped himself in and blur the handsome, composed features with blood and bruises.

He wanted to see something real in Ezra, something other than layers of lies and games, even if the only real thing in him was pain. He took a step back, out of the reach of temptation, and channeled his fury into his voice.

"You're like a fucking piece of gum stuck to my shoe!" He lifted the envelope crumbled in his fist and shook it. "What the hell is this? You think you can buy forgiveness in, in, what?--some kind of twisted bid for redemption? Or is this the next fucking step in your warped payback scheme?"

Ezra's voice was steady, but a little of Chris's anger slipped away at the underlying tension he could hear only because he'd somehow become attuned to the subtle nuances in the accented drawl, and, _Jesus_, that was fucking annoying all in itself. "It's neither. It's merely a...a contribution, the only one I can make since I...I--"

The stony look fell away from Ezra's face like mosaics tumbling to the floor and he ran a hand through his hair. He blinked his eyes several times, but he didn't look away from Chris. After a tense moment, he cleared his throat and when he spoke again, it was in his usual controlled tone.

"I made a mistake." He glanced down and a smile ghosted across his features. "Not the first error in judgment I've made, not by a long shot, but undoubtedly the worst." He sobered and looked up again. "I threw away what the others--what my brothers--your brothers...."

Ezra frowned and his voice trailed off. He shrugged and made a vague gesture with his right hand. "They offered me a place in their lives and a, a home." He stumbled over the word. "And I liked them." He laughed, but his mouth had a wry crook to it. "That's a joke, isn't it? I liked them, when all I'd wanted was to--" He shrugged again and lifted his head in that way he had that oozed confidence verging on arrogance, but which he used to mask his most insecure moments.

Chris watched him--the fleeting expressions that played across Ezra's features before he shut them down, the tiny tells his body broadcast--and wondered when the hell he'd gotten so familiar with Ezra's subtle expressions that it was like they were waving checkered flags in his face.

Ezra's voice remained its steady, deceptive drawl, with a cool note in it, as though he were a step removed and none of it touched him in the least. "You'll have added expenses to defray while getting the new business underway. I threw away my chance to contribute in other ways, so I hope you--all of you--will accept the check in lieu of more substantive input."

Even when Ezra was leaning closer to the truth than usual, he covered it with deceits and misdirection. Chris sighed, never taking his eyes from Ezra's controlled face. What a fucking sad way to live, always with barriers between him and the world.

"So you just wanted to help us out with money. Is that what you're telling me? Nothing in it for you except, I dunno, some kind of weird disinterested satisfaction?"

Ezra's answer was a quick, charming smile. Chris pursed his lips and watched Ezra become instantly wooden-faced again, this time with a distinctly wary cast. Ezra's ethics might be dubious, but at least there was no doubting his intelligence and perceptiveness. Chris allowed himself a brief smile of his own and knew it didn't touch his eyes.

"Why me, Ezra? Why didn't you send it to one of the others?"

"I doubted any of them would accept it."

"That's _bull_." He watched Ezra's face tighten. "JD would have taken it; Vin, too. Even Josiah probably would've come round; he liked you, and he's always willing to give a sinner the benefit of the doubt." He got a mean satisfaction from Ezra's almost imperceptible flinch. "Buck and Nathan, okay, they'd've been harder sells--but not the others. And you know it damned well, so I'll ask you again, Ezra: why me? Why'd you come to the ranch to try to give it to me personally? Because that is why you came, isn't it?"

He paused until Ezra gave a stiff nod.

"Yeah. That was your excuse." He held up his hand and turned it over, opening his fingers and waiting while the crumbled envelope unfolded on his palm like a swan stretching its wings. "This isn't about money at all, is it? It's just another fucking scam for whatever convoluted reasons you've got spinning in your fucked-up head."

He turned his hand over and let the envelope flutter to the floor. Ezra's eyes followed it down, then he licked his lips and raised his gaze back to Chris.

Chris smiled grimly. "Why don't you try telling the freaking truth for once, Ezra--if you're capable."

Ezra held his eyes for a long, still moment, then huffed a quiet laugh. He bent and picked up the envelope, smoothing it between his hands as he spoke in a voice laced with weary irony. "Come now, Chris, I'm sure you're aware truth itself is deceptive, that it hasn't a monolithic value, but is comprised of layers and striations. That--so to speak--it comes with fault lines. Truth has various faces; even, at times, its own pair of Janus faces." He stopped smoothing the envelope and let his hand holding it drop to his side as though it were too heavy to hold up any longer. "If you wish the truth, then this matter is, indeed, about the money. I made a small winning at-- Well, the what and where is of no consequence. The salient point is I obtained a moderately substantial sum of money with relative ease and wish to give it, to give what I can, to the ranch. And the truth behind my desire to contribute is because I want to help the family's venture succeed the only way I have left available to me." He frowned. "The only way, that is, I left open to myself to participate in the family's affairs."

Ezra took a step toward him, then another. Ezra's shoulders were stiff, as though he were holding himself ready to dodge a punch, and his eyes were watchful, but he kept coming with the bravado of Charly Baumann stepping into the center-ring cage where his sixteen tigers awaited him. Chris looked at Ezra with wariness of his own, but he didn't move away even when Ezra stepped so close their chests would touch if either of them leaned a fraction of an inch toward the other. He looked down into Ezra's face and was torn between anger and a dark, resentful pleasure at recognizing that even the tiniest of lines and marks on Ezra's face were as known to him as the back of his own hand.

He no longer saw any hint of the child in this man whose skin he'd licked, whose features his touch had made contort in pain and in pleasure, sometimes a mix of both at once, and whose scent, even now, struck him with sexual force, all adult male and sin and his own needs and wants mirrored back at him with a hunger that vibrated between them. Ezra had said they understood each other because of shared loneliness, but the quality between them that had this pounding draw in his blood was more complicated than three years of being alone since losing Sarah.

Ezra pushed the envelope into the pocket on the front of Chris's Levi's. Chris jerked as the long fingers pressed into the tight space and stroked warmth that branded his skin through the cloth of denim and boxers. He stayed motionless and held Ezra's eyes as Ezra gazed up at him in unremitting challenge, the green of his irises a narrow ring around his dilated pupils.

"It's only money, Chris. I want--I wish I could give more, but the only thing I have that I believe anyone will accept now is money. But even though it's only money, I think it could be useful, with the mortgage and the new expenses and the land you want to buy. Let me give it. I...."

For the first time, Ezra faltered, his controlled voice stuttering and his eyes blinking down. His shoulders slumped momentarily before he straightened them and lifted his head again with a tilt like a watchful elk poised either for fight, with his rack at the ready, or for flight.

"You want the truth, and the truth is that, unlike Vin, I remember it all. I remember the ranch--home--all of us there, the noise and commotion and things always happening. There was always somebody getting up to something, people doing things, laughing, talking. Always somebody willing to hold me, or tickle me and make me laugh, or help me tie my shoes. Family. My mother is a fine woman and she loves me in her way, but there were only the two of us most of the time, and every place we lived was quiet and empty and...cold. So different from ho--"

Chris caught Ezra's wrist; he didn't lift Ezra's hand away from his hip, but he stilled its movement. Ezra's fingers had stroked deeper into his pocket than necessary merely to secure the letter, which might have been partly unconscious as his eyes grew opaque, focused on the past.

"Ezra." He waited until Ezra's gaze sharpened on him. "Don't ever mention your memories to me again."

Ezra looked at him consideringly for a long moment. Chris waited for him to get it, to understand it had to be that way. The muscles across Chris's shoulders knotted with unexpected nervousness, the tension easing only when Ezra nodded with curt sobriety. Chris let go of his wrist, but left Ezra's hand where it was tucked into his pocket, warm against Chris's body. Ezra's thumb inside the pocket set up a rhythmic rubbing against Chris's hipbone, and there was no doubt this time it was deliberate. Ezra's eyes were all sharp challenge again, pushing the boundaries with the shove-shove-shove that was all Ezra.

"But the other truth, the Janus face of this particular truth, is that you're right: I did want to deliver the check personally for no reason other than I wanted to see you again. Because, ugly a truth as it might be, when it comes to a choice between the family and you--" the working of the muscles in his throat as Ezra swallowed drew Chris's eyes "--there is no choice."

For a dizzying moment, Vin's gravelly tones mingled with Ezra's honeyed drawl in his ears and Chris's skin prickled, a flush of cold down his back followed by heat. Then he ruthlessly severed the two voices and isolated Ezra. He pushed away the disorientation and looked squarely at Ezra, seeing him as he needed to: alone and separate, just Ezra himself with no other connections.

"We don't exactly have much choice here, anyway."

"Let me guess." Ezra's voice was wry, but tightness underlay its studied casualness. "You have feelings for me, but since we're bro--"

"No." He ran his hands lightly up the outsides of Ezra's arms to rest on his shoulders, closing his fingers over the layers of muscle he could feel tensing through the linen of Ezra's shirt. "My brother will always be the six-year-old I lost."

Like Adam, his son, stilled in time like a glass-encased butterfly, eternally five years old.

Ezra pulled his fingers from Chris's pocket and lifted both his hands to rest on Chris's forearms as they bridged his and Ezra's bodies. The warmth of Ezra's touch spread into Chris's gut, but it was still in knots. He studied the face looking up at him with challenge and courage and a hint of wonder and was abruptly washed with the mix of wild terror and exhilaration he'd felt the first time he'd taken a running leap into the deep end of the pool. It was insane, he was fucking out of his mind, but he trusted Ezra to catch him just as his father had that day.

"You said it yourself, Ezra: We're both fucking crazy as minks."

The look of withering disdain that crossed Ezra's face bizarrely loosened some of the tightness in his stomach.

"I highly doubt I ever resorted to meaningless and crude metaphors about wildlife, but I can't entirely disagree with the, the...uh...the sentiment."

Ezra's voice faltered as Chris slid one hand to the back of Ezra's neck and lifted the other to cradle his head, drawing him close. Ezra's lips were parted in welcome when Chris brought their mouths together. Ezra licked gently at the corner of Chris's lips, then slid his tongue inside to meet Chris's. The kiss was long and warm, without the clawing need to hurt, to consume, or even to pack everything into a few seized moments.

Ezra eventually licked his way out of the kiss. "Denial works for me." He murmured the words into Chris's ear, then closed his lips on his earlobe with a light tug.

Chris tilted his ear away from the tickling sensation and smiled at the sultry chuckle that wafted coffee-flavored breath along his cheek. He ran his hand over Ezra's thick, soft hair. "What's that saying? 'That way's madness.' Sometimes it doesn't pay to think too much about things."

About Sarah. About his son. About loss and wanting.

About the lengths he was willing to go to keep the demons at bay.

Ezra's drawl was dry as desert sand. "I believe it's 'O, that way madness lies; let me shun that'."

He answered Ezra's strained smile with one of his own. "Close enough, I reckon."

"It does...get the gist across." After a tense pause, Ezra cleared his throat and his smile broadened into dimpled cockiness. He rubbed his thumb across his lower lip and looked up at Chris with a devilish glint dancing in his eyes. "Well, I have always advocated avoidance as a crucial survival skill."

Ezra pulled Chris's head down for a searing kiss that led to their pulling at each other's clothes as they stumbled to the bed. The sex was quick, dirty and compelling, yet had a leisureliness about it Chris only in the aftermath realized was because they both knew, this time, they'd be doing this again, and again. The imperative to feel it all this one time, to get it right, to get it all said, was no longer urgent. They'd grabbed time for themselves.

He curled on his side with Ezra tucked up snugly against his back and Ezra's arm curved over his ribs. He circled his fingers in a loose hold around Ezra's wrist, studying the deceptive delicacy of the manicured hand with its slender fingers and skin soft as doeskin. Ezra's pulse thrummed against his palm like the reassuring blinking of a lighthouse through fog.

The thought hit Chris that this grubby motel room, or a series of ones like it, would likely be all the uncertain haven the two of them would ever know.

"Cold?" Ezra sounded half asleep, but he pressed closer against Chris, warm and solid and real.

He let go of Ezra's wrist and slid his hand down to entwine their fingers, feeling the rub of Ezra's calluses against his own and the anchoring strength in Ezra's grip. As Ezra's breathing lengthened into a deep, even rhythm against his shoulder, Chris pressed Ezra's hand against his chest and watched a puddle of fading daylight on the floor beneath the drapes shrink into twilight, then followed it into the dark behind his eyelids.

:::::::

It was nearly eleven by the time he got home, but lights shone from the living room and kitchen windows. Buck looked up from where he was leaning into the open fridge when Chris went inside. Chris got a smile, a swift, knowing once-over from his shower-damp hair to his feet, and a quirk of dark eyebrows.

"Well, hey, looky what the cat's dragged in. _Stud_." Only Buck could make a one-syllable word sound like a page of porn.

Chris shook his head with a slight smile. "The rest of the boys still up?"

"Yeah, we have had us a good day; Josiah took a booking this evening for next week from some folks in Seattle. Word's spreading, and the word is good. We're just kicking back and having a last beer--or the men among us are, anyway. Here." He lobbed a couple of cold cans in quick succession at Chris, who bobbled them a moment, to Buck's amusement. "Take those through, will you. Want a beer?"

Chris nodded, caught the bottle Buck tossed him, and went into the living room. Four pairs of eyes looked up at him, flicked straight to his damp hair, then smiled with pale imitations of Buck's leer. Jesus, _family_.

"Brother, we didn't expect to see you tonight." Josiah, his voice a lazy rumble, looked mellow as a big tom mouser who'd recently fed well.

Chris put the can of Pepsi on the oak chest in front of Nathan, pitched the Tiger Red to Vin, and set his beer on the burl table beside Dad's recliner. Buck came in with a beer for Josiah, a glass of milk for JD, and settled on the couch next to Nathan, putting his feet up on the chest and taking a swig from his beer. The shared mellowness in the room reached out to Chris with a mocking face that unsettled his stomach.

But he'd never seen any point in putting off what had to be done.

"I had to go into town to pick up a registered letter."

"Funny, I never knew the Post Office stayed open this late. Though Wickes' does, come to think about it." Buck's innocent tone drew a laugh from JD and a grin from the others.

"The letter was addressed to me, but it turned out to be for all of us. Or for the ranch." Chris pulled the crumbled letter from the pocket of his jeans and smoothed it between his palms, which were suddenly sweaty.

"Oh, shoot, it's not a problem, is it? Some legal papers we filed wrong or something?" All of them looked up at him at Nathan's anxious words.

"Nah, nothing legal. It's a check. A--donation, I suppose it could be called." He tossed the envelope onto the chest next to Buck's feet and sat down in the recliner, taking up his beer for something to occupy his hands.

Nathan reached for the envelope, but JD beat him to it, his quick hands snatching it up. "A check? Neat! Is it from a satisfied customer? We've hardly been open any...." His voice trailed off as he pulled the check from the envelope and his cheeks seemed to pale, then turned red in the lamplight.

"JD?" Buck frowned and sat forward, putting his feet on the floor.

JD glanced up at Chris, who met his eyes steadily; JD quickly looked back to the check he was holding. "It's from Ezra." He put it down on the table with a precise movement and sat back, his hands gripping each armrest of his chair.

"Ezra!" Nathan picked up the check and shook his head. "Where the heck did he get $35,000?"

"We probably don't want to know." Buck reached over and plucked the check from his fingers.

Nathan rubbed his hand against his thigh as though he felt dirty. "Probably conned some other trusting fools somewhere."

In the heavy silence that followed, Chris could feel Vin's gaze like a sunlamp on his cheek for several moments before it switched off. When he turned his head, Vin was looking down at his thumb rubbing over the white tiger on his can of pop.

"But why do you think he sent it to us?" JD looked at each of them in turn.

"Who knows with that bastard." Buck sounded hard as granite. "Maybe he's just rubbing our noses in the fact he's got it and can throw it away."

Nathan huffed a strained laugh. "Could be from something illegal and if we cash it, we'll have the FBI knocking on the door."

"No letter or explanation?" Josiah looked at JD, who shook his head. Josiah raised an eyebrow at Chris. "Brother?"

"There was nothing in the envelope except the check."

Another brief silence, then JD spoke tentatively. "Maybe it's his way of saying sorry."

Buck snorted. "I doubt the word's in his fancy, show-off vocabulary. It's too plain and workaday for him."

Chris twitched. He tightened his hand around the beer bottle and took a long swallow.

JD frowned. "Yeah, but he could've had second thoughts, you know. I mean, maybe he was just hurt before. He could be feeling real bad about what he did and--"

"Yeah, and maybe he's laughing his head off at us for being gullible and falling for whatever trick he's playing on us now!"

"It might not be a trick! You don't know that."

"That's right, kid, I don't know. None of us can know what's going on in his squirrelly head because he just dropped this in our laps without any explanation, which is just so damned typical--" Buck broke off and pressed his lips together.

"Well, maybe we could write to him." JD's voice dropped in volume, but was just as determined. "He might want to come home again."

"Home." Buck laughed bitterly while Nathan shook his head and Josiah meditated on a blank spot on the wall.

"I reckon JD's got the right idea." Vin's husky voice cut through the tense atmosphere like a hot knife through butter.

"Jesus, Vin. What's the point?"

"He's still our brother, Buck, no matter what he...what he did." JD could just possibly out-stubborn Buck himself.

"Fine, sure, you write to him and you just set yourselves up to be kicked in the balls again!" Buck ran a hand through his thick hair. When he spoke, his voice was calmer, reasonable, just a little wheedling. "How do you even know where to write him? He wasn't exactly forthcoming about anything in his damned life. It was all lies and evasions, JD. You gotta be able to see that."

JD picked up the envelope, studied the front, turned it over and looked at the back. He shrugged and shot a hopeful look at Vin.

Chris emptied his beer and put the bottle down on the table with a clink that drew eyes to him. He lifted his right leg and rested the ankle on his left knee, settling both hands onto his calf. "Anybody want to talk to him, he's at the Gem."

Even Josiah lowered his gaze from the wall to look at him and the stares that took in his damp hair now held no hint of amusement. JD blushed and quickly lowered his eyes to the floor.

"Chris." Nathan's agonized whisper was the only sound until Buck jerked forward on the couch with a rustle of cloth and thump of his boots on the floor.

"So what is his story, Chris? Come on, tell us. We're all ears, we're just sitting here dying to hear the latest. What's it about, huh? A bid to buy redemption with blood money? He's sorry for what he did, after all the nastiness, and wants a second chance to show us what a decent, loving--" Buck blinked at him, two angry red spots on his cheeks "--_brother_ he can be?"

"Buck, shut up."

Buck laughed, bitter and brief as a gunshot, then sobered into deadly seriousness. "You know, you're right, forget him. What is it with _you_, Chris? That's what I really want to know. You haven't spent five minutes with a decent woman since Sarah died. What, you got some unique form of impotence there, old dog? Can't get it up now with anybody but whores and your kid brother?"

Chris deliberately forced his fingers to relax their grip on his leg, where he figured he'd have ten neatly aligned bruises in the morning.

Nathan's anxious voice cut the stillness. "This isn't going to help, Buck."

"'Help'? Tell me, Nathan, just what the hell could possibly _help_ this situation?" A pause in which nothing sounded but Buck's deep breathing before he spoke again in a low, throbbing voice. "I have never before been glad Dad died, but now--"

Chris surged to his feet and Buck was instantly on his own, facing him, taking one long step to close the gap between them, flushed and glittery-eyed. Taller than Chris, but Chris could take him, he'd always been able to, he could punch Buck's lights out and walk away, bloodied but standing because he was meaner than Buck and they both knew it. They'd both always known it. And this was always how they'd sorted out their differences, a lifetime of getting in each other's faces and talking with their fists and kicking feet until they'd either worked off the steam powering them or somebody pulled them apart and knocked their heads together, whichever came first.

He had an abrupt memory of Ezra and Vin, the other inseparable, close-age pairing, dealing with their spats in exactly the opposite way. When they had a disagreement, they'd separate to far corners of the room or the house or the yard. Vin would go completely silent and Ezra would get noisy until they either worked things out alone or someone came along and helped them figure it out.

He turned his head to glance at Vin, who was still seated, but watching them with unfathomable eyes and with tension evident in the lean lines of his body, poised to move into action if needed. Chris took a breath and swept his eyes over JD and Nathan--both on their feet, hovering, Nathan near Buck, JD beyond Vin--and Josiah, seated like Vin and watching with similar deep contemplative readiness.

Chris ran his hand through his hair and took a step back to drop back down onto the recliner. He pulled his foot back up to rest on his leg, not even pretending it wasn't from a defensive urge. He took another breath and made sure his voice was steady.

"Anybody wants to know why Ezra wrote that check, you should ask him yourself. I reckon he'll be around awhile."

He heard the whispered, "Jesus," above him right before Buck stopped looming and turned to sink back down on the couch.

"He'll be staying in town?" JD actually managed to sound cautiously hopeful as he sat down.

"For a bit."

"So, maybe he'd like to come out to the ranch."

Buck lifted his head with a snap. "What, do you have some kind of masochistic streak we haven't noticed, JD? You want another try at a big old family reunion? Six brothers and one bastard of a--"

"Ezra's made the first move." Vin's low voice cut Buck off swift and decisive as a posse at the pass. "Maybe money ain't a way that makes sense to any of us in saying sorry, but it might be the only way he could think to do it." His eyes flicked to Chris and away to settle on JD. "You wanna go see him, JD, I'll go with you."

JD nodded, relief and renewed determination settling on his face as he heaved a sigh. "Good, good. Josiah, is it okay with you if we invite Ezra out here?"

After a long silence, Josiah spoke in a ponderous voice. "I don't suppose it can do any harm that hasn't already been done."

Chris looked down at his hands clenched on his bent leg.

"Okay. Okay, good. Nathan?"

From the corner of his eye, Chris could see Nathan turn from JD to him. He lifted his head and looked at his middle brother. Nathan had seen him at his worst, just like Buck and Josiah. Vin and JD had been spared seeing him during the wild years immediately before and after Sarah was in his life. Nathan had missed the before years, but he'd been through the brunt of the aftermath of Chris's losing Sarah and Adam when Nathan was only a couple of years older than JD, which maybe Nathan had thought was the worst ordeal he'd ever have to face with any of his brothers.

The pain in Nathan's imploring eyes seared him. "Chris, you know it's not right."

He didn't have words to explain the fucked-up way it felt right and that, right or not, he needed it for whatever it was and however long they could make it last despite obstacles and reason. He stood up.

"It's up to all of you to decide what you want to do about Ezra, if you want to see him in town or have him out here. And it's up to you if you want me to move out."

Buck's voice was incredulous. "You're choosing him over us?"

"It's not like that; not like that at all. But it's your choice, all of you, if you want me to go."

"Nobody fucking wants you to leave, Chris!"

He didn't look at Buck; didn't look directly at any one of them. "Just let me know what you want. It'll be fine." He turned his head and made sure he met JD's eyes for a long moment, then turned and held Nathan's, speaking straight to him. "Whatever you decide'll be okay. I can get a place in town and I'll come out and work the ranch same as always."

Buck stood up. "Nobody wants you to move out. You damned well know that. We didn't want you to leave when you were living on booze and bar fights and we don't want you going now. This is your home just like it's ours and that'll never change. It's just-- Dammit, Chris, you know Nathan's right! Just because that little bastard's got his claws in you somehow--"

Chris couldn't suppress a bubble of laughter, but he managed to cut it off short and dropped his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. God, what a night. He looked up at Buck, wryness still twisting his lips. "Fifty-fifty, Buck. You can't keep on blaming Ezra for the whole thing any longer. It's fifty-fifty now." He glanced once around the circle of familiar, watchful faces. "Whatever you decide will be okay. Just let me know what you want." He shrugged. "Whenever you decide."

"You are the stubbornest, stupidest jackass--"

"Yeah." He squeezed Buck's shoulder, nodded at the rest of his brothers, and turned and walked from the deep pool of quiet behind him into the bedroom hallway and along it to his room in the addition.

:::::::

An hour later, Chris was sitting on the unfinished windowseat in his dark room having a last smoke when he heard the quiet opening of the door from the main part of the house. Vin's nearly inaudible steps sounded along the passage, followed by the muted swish of the opening and shutting of the door to his room opposite Chris's, then silence descended again broken only by the creaks an old house gave as it settled in the night air. Sitting sideways with his legs stretched along the wooden seat and his back against the wall, Chris stared at the foothills, lit with an oddly pure light by the three-quarters moon that hung above them like it was thumbtacked to the sky. The scene had the pristine quality new snow and bright sun and a brief rainfall sometimes also gave the world, like it was new made and thrumming with possibilities and innocence.

Sometimes when the house was very quiet, or when he was working alone around the yard or the workshop, he thought he heard Adam's infectious chuckle, fragile and fleeting as gossamer tearing in a breeze.

He stubbed out the butt on the ashtray balanced on his thigh and folded his arms across his chest. He'd occupied the empty bed behind him alone most of the nights of the last three years--overnights in the drunk tank and occasional times he'd passed out in the beds of Lydia and Maria and their kind excepted--and felt no urgency to climb between the cool sheets for another night on his own. He'd do it soon enough because he needed rest, just as he'd forced himself to get up every morning after Sarah and Adam were gone because he'd needed to find the courage to keep going.

People in town would start noticing if he spent nights in one hotel room or another with Ezra, and, if JD had his way, Ezra would be known as part of the family soon enough. He supposed in a way it was good that nothing about this situation would be easy because nothing about it _should_, by rights, be easy. Or even thinkable.

He expected he should feel dirty even wanting it, that he should see it as Nathan, and maybe some of the others--or all of them, more quietly--did. Sure as hell would be the way the town saw it, if anyone ever suspected. Neighbors and friends would have enough trouble figuring out how to react if they realized Chris was merely sleeping with a man; he could imagine Lydia's scorn and disgust reflected in dozens of familiar eyes at that revelation alone.

So it wouldn't ever have been easy no matter who Ezra was, if they'd shared nothing but the same sex, but things being as they were, nobody could ever find out. That was the bottom line. He had to protect the family from the kind of fall-out the least suspicion would bring down on them.

He'd figured long ago life was a balance sheet and he knew damned well everything good had its price tag. He'd lost his mother to a stroke during childbirth when Buck was born, and while he wouldn't ever give up Buck, not for anything, he'd always wondered what the pretty laughing woman holding him in the black-and-white photographs was like. Sarah had lost her father when she insisted on marrying Chris against Hank Connolly's wishes. Chris had lost Sarah and his son when he'd dared believe they'd have a lifetime together.

You took whatever good crossed your path and you held onto it as hard and long as you could because luck was a chancy bitch.

He wasn't sure JD, or possibly even Nathan, believed in that credo yet, but he was certain the rest of them did. Vin, for sure, despite his youth, had it written in the maturity already stamping his face with character, and it was goddamned gospel to Ezra.

So protecting the family came first, but he and Ezra would be able to meet anonymously in the city. A few hours' drive west to Seattle, Tacoma or Bellevue, a few hours' longer drive south-west to Portland, a shorter distance east to Spokane, and hundreds of smaller towns in between where no one would think anything of two travelers sharing a motel room for a few nights. Maybe the furtiveness would get to them, or the difficulty he'd have getting away from the ranch for more than a night at a time, and it would cough to a halt and leave blankness behind for them and relief for the others, but he felt the blaze of Ezra's touch on his skin and Ezra's tongue licking along his jaw up to his ear and heard Ezra's voice drawling filth with honey-sweetness into his ears and laughter bubbling up between them.

He slid between the cold sheets and ran his hand down his belly, inside his sweatpants and over his hardening cock, closing his eyes in the silence and hearing a voice like no Larabee ever had and feeling hands moving over him like none he'd ever known, rough and smooth at once, as strong as they were tender; one minute demanding, the next acquiescing, and no predicting anything they did, neither the hands nor the personality that guided them or the fine hard body.

As fire built in his gut and his balls tightened in the cradle of his other hand, he pumped his dick and came with the feeling of clinging to something tough yet fragile in a battering gale that was trying to snatch it away from him, and he had to _hang on hang on hang on_.

  


###### Epilogue: Four Corners, Washington | November 1979

Chris woke with his usual instant awareness of the general time--not long before dawn--despite the blinds covering the windows in his bedroom blocking much of the light. He rolled over and fit himself against Ezra's side, his hand smoothing across Ezra's chest. Ezra sighed and turned his head toward him without waking. Chris pulled the covers more snugly up over them both against the chill and was content to lie quietly, idly circling his fingers over Ezra's ribs and breathing in the scent of sleep-warmed flesh with a lingering hint of sex and exertion. They'd made love the night before after the rest of the house was asleep and Ezra had slipped down the bedroom hallway into Chris's room and bed in the addition. They'd become experts at quiet lovemaking, even Ezra keeping his running verbal commentary muted, which made it somehow even more stimulating, his lips moving against Chris's ear as his lilting voice spilled demands and responses and laughter and moans seemingly straight to Chris's nerve centers.

They'd become experts at keeping everything illicit between them confined to this room, or the motel rooms they met in on Chris's occasional trips away. The rest of the family had become as expert at pretending they didn't know anything about Ezra's nocturnal ghosting through the house, or the reason for it.

Chris moved a thumb along Ezra's stubble-roughened jaw and leaned down to lick along Ezra's lower lip. Ezra murmured and lifted his arm to slide his hand around the back of Chris's neck. His eyes were still closed, but Ezra parted his lips and Chris slipped his tongue between them as Ezra pulled him imperiously down to lie partly over him. The kiss was long and sloppy and intense, but with the satiating warmth of being together rather than the heat of needing more, despite the brush of their half-hard cocks. When Chris pulled back with a stroke of his thumb down Ezra's cheek, Ezra's eyes slitted open and he smiled up at him.

"Time for me to get up?"

"Almost." Chris dotted another kiss to Ezra's moistened lips. "You're heading east today?"

"I'll have to get on the road before noon. Mother is expecting me to join her in Saint Louis by Saturday. She claims merely to want my opinion on a business matter, but I expect she'll actually be hoping for more active...participation, shall we say." He quirked a grin and Chris shook his head with an answering smile. "It will at least provide me with the chance to get the car properly serviced. Your Tiny might be perfectly qualified to handle that debacle you call a truck, but he's not laying one beefy paw on my LeSabre." He gave a theatrical shudder.

When JD had asked Ezra why he'd wanted a classic car, Ezra had smiled without the expression touching his eyes. "It provided me with a daily reminder of the year 1960."

Even the remembered discomfort of that moment didn't stop Buck from using the convertible as his personal penis extension every Saturday night when Ezra was home at the ranch.

"I doubt I'll be gone more than a week this time and I've taken care of all the bills that were coming due, so there shouldn't be any bookkeeping matters you need to attend to. I asked Mother to arrange a seat for me in a backroom game between a pair of opponents with whom I'm familiar. The play should be enjoyably challenging, but I expect I'll be able to refresh my bank account in a relatively short time."

Chris nodded and fought away the worry about one day receiving another phone call about a death. He could no more stop Ezra's being what he was than he could stop Nathan's being a doctor, and he wouldn't if he could; he'd known for months he wanted Ezra exactly as he was, despite all the baggage that went with that.

Ezra's slender, strong fingers wrapped around his hand. "There's no risk whatsoever, I promise you. They're rich amateurs who enjoy the play for its own sake and bear no grudges when they lose, particularly if they've been entertained along the way. I pick my games wisely these days, Chris. And I won't allow Mother to inveigle me into any scheme unless I deem it safe."

Chris nodded. "All right."

He surrendered to the insistence of Ezra's mouth against his, but forced himself to pull away when heat pooled in his groin. "Time to go."

Ezra got up and pulled on his burgundy satin pajama bottoms and belted the matching robe high across his bare chest. Chris took a last kiss and a press of his hand against Ezra's cheek, feeling the dimple deepen under the pad of his thumb as Ezra smiled at him, then opened the door and closed it behind him after Ezra slipped out into the hall. As Chris was turning away, he paused at hearing the door to the main part of the house open and the murmur of voices, Vin's gravelly tones counterpoint to Ezra's drawl. Vin often took a ride before breakfast and the start of the day's work, but he usually timed his exits to miss Ezra's.

Ezra gave a low, light laugh and the door closed, leaving silence behind. Chris shook away the tension that had stiffened his muscles, feeling the stupidity of it. They were safe here, even Buck and Nathan having finally thawed after Vin and JD brought Ezra back to the ranch in May. After the first few awkward visits followed by more easeful ones, Josiah had offered Ezra his old room for his own. Ezra had accepted with a casualness that hadn't masked his feelings as well as he probably thought and moved his things into the room he admitted he'd always remembered.

He'd given the prism, however, to Vin, who'd hung it in his own bedroom window.

Chris pulled on his jeans and reached for a flannel shirt. A ride with Vin over the frosty ground with the horses' breath steaming, Mad racing alongside them, and clouds like crystal shavings high in the translucent sky was the perfect start to a day.


End file.
